


The Trine Prophecy

by Spaceman_Spiff



Series: Gnothi Se Auton [1]
Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 131,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaceman_Spiff/pseuds/Spaceman_Spiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil receives an urgent message from Mysidia with news that his mother is alive. His hopes of finally learning about the family he never knew may soon be realized, but are the secrets of his lineage more than he bargained for? Meanwhile, Rydia leaves the underworld searching for something missing in her life, and her journey leads her to make new connections that will finally make her feel more human, for better or worse. Kain finally descends Mt. Ordeals after receiving a prophecy from an ancient spirit, but can he overcome the stain of his past to fully reunite with his friends? Beneath it all, an ancient evil begins a search for power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Message

**Author's Note:**

> I write with the classic FFIV canon in mind, as this story was conceived well before the DS version or The After Years were ever released. I do not follow the lore of either of them in this story. So if you're expecting me to make connections with FFIV-DS or with TAY then you will be sorely disappointed. You may, however, consider this AU if you subscribe to FFIV-DS and/or TAY as canon. Either way, I hope you enjoy this story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil struggles with a feeling of emptiness that he cannot grasp, but a letter from Mysidia changes everything.

... _until we meet again, brother..._

"Cecil, we must not leave our guests waiting much longer," the sweet voice poured out of the small doorway, out onto the lonely balcony where white drapes swirled around a lonely man. He stood staring for a moment longer, pale rays of a distant moon gracing his features as he finally turned to walk back inside. "We're becoming rather unfashionably late, my dear."

"Yes, it's just that..."

Cecil could hardly put himself together fast enough to let the sentence roll from his tongue, leaving his wife, his true love, to stare at him blankly. A cool breeze passed through the balcony doorway, grasping at silk curtains and kissing the Paladin King's gentle cheek. For an eternal moment, Cecil shut his eyes and felt his father's hand fall strong on his shoulder. He smiled as he opened his eyes again to the essence of all beauty before him.

"Just what?" she said with a questionable grin on her face, standing so perfect as she waited for her husband's answer. Cecil took a few quick steps towards her before sweeping her into his arms, holding her as close as could be.

"It's just that you're so beautiful," Cecil whispered in her perfect ear, "I would rather stay and gaze upon your face than to have to share it with the world."

"You're so sweet, Cecil, but you know what?" she said almost sincerely enough for him to believe her for a moment. He knew she wasn't falling for it.

"What's that?"

"You're messing up my dress, which took me several hours to prepare." she whispered with such a coy tone that it actually made the hair on Cecil's neck stand on end, even if she was telling him to let her go. "But a simple kiss will suffice."

Cecil unwrapped her from his bear hug, leaving his lips pressed to hers before finally letting her straighten out what small wrinkles had developed on her gown. It flowed like an ivory waterfall down the cliffs of her body, from her chest down to the tips of her toes. It was immaculate in every way, and on its own would have made her stand out in any crowd. But she still fancied her silk robes, which had men wishing every moment that she may get just a little too hot and perhaps take them off. Though she was now a Queen, she honored her previous title as a white wizard, even though the robes she wore now were much finer than any she had ever worn in those days. But she knew that's who she was, and she would always remember where she came from.

"I don't even know why we're having this banquet in the first place," Cecil muttered as Rosa made her way to a delicate sash hanging on the wall beside the tower door. She turned to him with a look of impatience, and Cecil could see her words coming from a mile away.

"Yes you do. Don't even try to get out of this one," she warned as she threw the sash over her head, leaving it to hang on her shoulder as it fell across her body. Ancient words and symbols were stretched upon the fabric, and it only added to her beautiful figure. The adornment was given to her for her unsurpassed knowledge in the arts of white magic. She was a true master of her skill. The sash bounced lively as she hurried over to her husband's side, wrapping her hand around his right arm and facing him towards the door. "Besides, this is the last one we will have to attend for a while. So suck it up, dear."

"I guess you're right," Cecil conceded with a faint sigh that was more of an attempt to get a rise out of Rosa than anything else. He smiled at her as he began to lead her slowly towards the door. "You always are."

"I just have more sense than most women." she said matter-of-factly, squeezing Cecil's arm just a little. As they stopped at the door, they looked at each other once more, smiles mirrored with each other. Cecil took a step forward to open the door for his angel, who was still smiling rather coy at her husband. "I would've thought you had figured that out by now."

"After you, milady." Cecil gestured her through the door into the tower stairwell, lit by the warming presence of overhanging candle chandeliers. She briskly tugged Cecil along by his arm as they made their way down to join their guests in the banquet hall.

The great hall was lively with chatter, people dressed in their most delightful attire with more colors than even a rainbow could hold all at once. Everyone stood around the long table stretched down the middle of the room, elegantly bathed with a red silk cloth, gold lacings sewn in beautiful patterns all about it. Everyone was waiting anxiously to meet the King and Queen, though not impatiently, for the room was a sight to see, and most enjoyed just walking around. Fine china and silverware lay peacefully in perfect symmetry up and down the table, plates waiting to be fed by something extravagant, crystal chalices waiting to be filled with the finest wine. Above the table, reaching down from the high ceiling was a magnificent chandelier crafted entirely from crystal, with more than enough candles to fill the room with light and warmth. Not to mention the gold candle stands placed upon the dining table itself, made with such sweet wax that smelled so divine. It was a heavenly setting for any occasion. The banquet hall was waiting with great expectations for what the night's meal would bring, and the guests were finding themselves lost in its splendor. The meal was the last thing on their minds, what with such delightful sights to see. Not to mention they were all standing in the castle, the very homeland, of the Earth's savior.

Although it had been nearly two years since the end of the Crystal Wars, it was still spoken of a great deal throughout the world; truly a historic mark in time. Cecil had only recently discovered that he had been written into books of text and delivered to libraries and schools everywhere. Needless to say he was never truly inclined to read them. Even the castle artists insisted on painting murals, canvases, and portraits of him and his journey to adorn the great hall. There was a portrait of Cecil and Rosa together in each other's arms hanging on the north wall behind their respective seats at the table, suspended gracefully just above the great door so everyone could see. Cecil had made sure his personal favorite artist had painted that picture, for he would stand for nothing less than perfection. As beautifully rendered as that was, what caught the majority of the people's eye was the mural painted on the long west wall.

It was a scene that none could even fathom, for it was but four warriors standing against the purest form of hatred that mankind had ever seen. The creature's body was but an outline within a dark flame, enveloped by what the artists referred to as "shadow's fire". It was stunning work to be sure, and each valiant hero and heroine was brought to life upon the wall. It was the spitting image of that crystal lair on the moon, with Zeromus standing so perfectly evil against Cecil and his legendary sword, Rosa glowing in all of her magic, Sir Edge with the sacred twin katanas, Masamune and Murasame, and finally Rydia standing rigid, hands outstretched and her long emerald hair floating not unlike a cape in the wind. No one seemed to notice that there was something missing...or rather, someone.

"Good fellows and fine ladies!" the herald came forward from the great door to the hall, standing at the north end where everyone could clearly see. Once everyone had finished with their hearsay and tittle-tattle, the announcement came forth, "May I present to you, His Majesty, King Cecil of Baron, and Her Highness, Queen Rosa."

The great doors opened with a mighty shudder, and with them came a streak of new light pouring in, followed by the two guards who were pushing with all they hand against the old hinges. Once they were opened, the guards stood upright, breathing a bit out of exhaustion, and waited for their King and Queen to step through. Everyone stared with a mix of awe and envy as the two utterly enlightening beings stepped ever so gracefully down the short stair and up to their seats at the table. They stood with every bit of radiance that their guests had come to expect, and none said a word as the guards once more showed their considerable strength in managing the doors closed. For a brief moment all was quiet; nothing but the flickering candles whispering their flames to one another.

"Everyone please, take a seat anywhere you would like," Cecil kindly implored with a waft of his strong hand over the table scene. The guests began to pull out their chairs and rest their soles, finding great comfort in the plush pillows they sat upon. "I do apologize for my lack of punctuality, but being the King sometimes requires one to be overdue."

The guests laughed a bit as they took their seats, not minding at all for Cecil's tardiness. Cecil kindly took Rosa's chair for her and sat her at the table, as did most of the gentleman courting ladies to this particular function. Once everyone had taken their seats, a door rushed open at the south-eastern end of the room, and as if on cue the food was brought in on large silver platters, some too big to be carried by a single man. There were three of each different platter, usually enough to serve thirty people or so, which was about how many were attending tonight's meal. The aroma that began to fill the room was astounding, and some people simply closed their eyes to enjoy the scent of an unknown feast. Once all the dishes were set upon the great table, the lids were lifted, and the steam rose like a warm mist into the sweet, waxy air. An essence of ecstasy seemed to wash over the room, and mouths watered like running faucets with the sight of some of the finest cuisine before their very eyes.

"May the Gods bless this meal before us, and may we all live in prosperity for as long as we all shall live." Cecil announced as he rose from his golden throne at the head of the table, Rosa beaming up at him from his side. As he spoke, the servants were filling the chalices with a select wine that could only be found in Baron itself. With all glasses filled to perfection, Cecil lifted his wine to his guests, and one by one they all answered with their own. "A toast on this fine occasion. Let us eat, drink, and be merry, and may the peace grow with our bellies."

"Here Here!"

"Amen!"

Everyone took a generous sip of their wine, a sweet taste off the very vines of the Baron lands, twisting the tongue in its grandeur. Everything was absolutely perfect, and mouths were soon finding themselves stuffed with things more delicious than they had imagined. Cecil took his seat once more and began to carve a piece of meat from the large platter set in front of him. He laid a small portion on Rosa's plate, as well as he did for those guests sitting close enough to him to do so. Plates were overflowing with luscious meats and steaming vegetables, and bowls were full to the brim with succulent stews and soups.

"This all looks marvelous, Your Majesty. We do thank you for the invitation," said a large bearded man at Cecil's right side, looking as though he very well could take the meal by himself. A very kind, jovial man that Cecil could almost instantly befriend. "We hope to have you to our kingdom in the near future."

"You're too kind, Sir Hector, and please call me Cecil."

"But of course, Your Majesty," Hector caught himself in mid-sentence and he chuckled a bit as he went on, "I apologize, Sir Cecil."

"Think nothing of it. Enjoy your meal and do not fret. We will have plenty of time to discuss the plans of your future kingdom."

"I do thank you, Sir Cecil."

The meal went on as people further down found more and more to talk about, and the wine was served quite frequently to that end of the table. Those who had more important matters to discuss at Cecil's end were found to be taking their drink a bit more in moderation. Women gabbled to their men and to each other about the lavish decorations, the ambrosial fare, and to the men, the stunning beauty of Her Highness, Queen Rosa, as she sat under a heavenly glow at the head of the table. To the women, Cecil seemed perfectly radiant in his ivory and gold attire. Rosa never had to worry, however, for Cecil would be a fool to ever leave her.

After destroying the meal upon his plate, leaving not even a crumb behind, Hector lifted his chalice as he wiped what had survived from his beard. From washing the massacre down he smiled gleefully at the host and hostess, giving a hearty belch to show his gratitude. They all laughed a bit as Hector's wife slapped him a good once or twice for good measure.

"You'll have to excuse my husband, Your Majesty," the wife explained hastily, "He seems to have forgotten just where he is."

"I do apologize, Sir Cecil, for it is a custom in our land to acknowledge a good meal." Hector vouched for his behavior, still smiling as his cheeks flushed a light color of red. His wife took a generous gulp of her wine. "I do seem to have forgotten my whereabouts."

"It is quite fine, and I'm sure our chefs do appreciate your compliments," Cecil affirmed with a hearty smile before dipping his chalice at his lips. It was filled as soon as the glass touched the table, a servant standing in wait for His Majesty's wine to empty. "I will make sure to pass the message on to him tonight."

A warm laughter fell from their mouths as they imagined someone, especially the King himself, walking up to the chef and belching in his face. It was a night filled with nothing but good sensations, and as long as the candles burned, the feast would continue. But now that they had eaten their fill at the business end of the table, time was drawing near for the heads to talk. Small talk at first.

"So what fine meal have we just had ourselves tonight, Sir Cecil?" Hector relayed a whispered message from his slightly inebriated wife.

"Well if you'd really like to know then you'll have to ask my dear Rosa here. She makes most of the arrangements for these engagements."

"Well, Sir Hector," Rosa began to explain the courses, rather excited that she was actually finding something to talk about with her guests, "We served several delicacies tonight such as our well-known Imp stew and carrot soup. The main course, however, is something we save for only our finest guests. You've just had rack of raven tonight, and we cannot even find raven here in Baron. We actually had to get it from the far lands of Mysidia."

"And how are things in Mysidia?" Hector made a crafty segue into more business matters. "Any word on whether or not they have signed or even agreed to the Gaea Treaty?"

"No such word as of now, Sir Hector, but we are in good spirits that they will soon send notice of their agreement." Cecil answered with higher hopes than he truly sensed, and in the back of his mind he was rather worried that Mysidia might never respond.

"It is rather strange, don't you think?" Hector pried a bit more into the situation, though not trying to dig in too deep, keenly aware that the matters were somewhat sensitive here in Baron. "The treaty was declared several months ago, and nearly every known kingdom and commune has already sent it back with a signature. Without their accord, I'm afraid the treaty will collapse."

"Such worries, Sir Hector. Shouldn't we focus more on establishing your land of Agart as a kingdom?" Cecil attempted to stray the conversation into a new direction, one more appropriate for the occasion. "Will you have enough supply to finish your castle?"

"I believe we will have plenty, and we thank you for everything you have offered us on our way." Hector nodding with sincere appreciation as his wife took another swig of her wine.

"We have decided to build directly into the mountain side, as to provide a somewhat unique defense for ourselves, as well as to save materials," spoke a younger and somewhat thinner, though still bearded man across the table from Hector. Cecil looked over to see the man's rather serious face glaring right back at him. Cecil almost felt uncomfortable just looking at his bone driven face. A powerful visage he surely did have.

"This is my younger brother, Philip of Tomera." Hector introduced the iron-faced gentleman, who continued to stare with no apparent change in his features. "He is the head of our council in Agart, and quite a knowledgeable fellow if I do say so myself." This is where Hector noticed Cecil's apparent uneasiness with Philip's constant stare. He leaned in and got Cecil's attention to whisper something into his ear, "He doesn't get out much."

"Ah..." Cecil concurred. Philip finally broke his stone stare and went back to picking at his plate, pushing meat into a stack of beans like a steamroller.

"And as of now, Philip is the only heir to our soon-to-be throne, but let's do keep that hush-hush." Hector said rather quietly as he put a hand to the side of his mouth, as if hiding the truth from the rest of the table. Cecil nodded to assure him that the conversation would never leave the great hall. But of course Hector's wife had overheard the statement, and in her present condition she took it upon herself to speak up.

"We'll soon change that, now won't we, dear!" Hector's wife blurted out as she leaned heavily against her husband's shoulder, clearly unable to keep her own balance.

"Yes, my dear. I'm sure we'll take care of that tonight," Hector replied in her drunken ear, helping her back up against her own chair, of which she kept complaining was spinning around way too fast. "My wife is not entirely accustomed to so much wine. You'll have to excuse her for the night."

"It's quite alright. It is getting quite late. Perhaps we should retire the ladies and make our way to the next room." Cecil offered the opportunity to get the real business out of the way. After such a fine meal, no one could possibly speak against it.

"That would be fine, Sir Cecil." Hector agreed, leaning over to his wife to let her know what was going on before the wine started speaking for her again. Cecil informed Rosa to take the guests to the leisure room before they stood up from their seats. As they did, the entire table stood up like a sudden wave of air had pushed each bottom out of its seat. They continued to talk however, recognizing that the meal had finally come to its conclusion, and Hector came around to shake the King and Queen's holy hands.

Hector stood nearly a foot shorter than Cecil, though nearly twice as wide at the midsection. He truly looked like a King, with his colorful vestments of green and red, trimmed in elegant yellow feathers. With the substantial brown beard overruling his face, and his polished dome of a head, he almost resembled Cid. His wife wore matching colors, with a beautiful scarlet dress and an evergreen shawl that didn't quite make it to the top of her head, but draped over her shoulders like liquid fabric. The shawl was held by a clip through the bun made from her silky chocolate brown hair. She was noticeably thinner than her husband and actually was a bit taller, but not by much. They both seemed absolutely vivacious and sociable, which was quite a stark contrast to Hector's brother. Philip just stood alone; the woman he was supposedly courting was off gossiping with other women. He obviously wasn't much of a people person, but he must have had the mind of a genius to run the council of Agart.

"It was a pleasure having you come all this way just to see us, sir Hector." Rosa politely thanked the future King of Agart as she held out a delicate hand. Hector took it with more grace and care than he would a feather, a lively smile spread across his face.

"Believe me, Your Highness, the pleasure was all ours."

"Rosa will assist your wife, as well as the other guests, to the leisure room," Cecil assured him, seeing that he had some hint of dread for what his wife might do in her state of mind.

"Thank you, Your Highness, but I must warn you," Hector said with a playful tone of seriousness, "She can be quite a handful sometimes."

"I think I can handle it." Rosa replied with a confident smile, walking over and taking the staggering woman gently by the arm, guiding her towards the south door. Rosa rallied the herd of befuddled people and led them all out of the great hall and down to their next destination.

"She'll be fine, Sir Hector." Cecil said as he reached an arm around the man's shoulder, turning him towards the east door. "Rosa can be quite a handful herself sometimes. You should have seen her at the first banquet we attended as King and Queen. We still have yet to be invited back to Toroia."

Hector chuckled from his bouncing belly, and was instantly feeling a bit better about his wife's abuse of the vine. They began to walk towards the door as they laughed of Rosa's drunken tale, but they stopped as Cecil almost ran into Philip. He hadn't even seen him, but now his statued face was all he could see, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Philip was a bit taller than Hector and his wife, though still a good half of a foot shorter than Cecil. His hair stood lively and red atop his head, and it joined with his short beard like a chin strap. Hector cleared his throat as they stopped, and the laughter had died down to an awkward silence.

"May my brother join us?" Hector asked, almost begging, for he knew Cecil was quite uncomfortable with Philip's alien air. "He will need to know much of our business, and it will only make it easier on both of us. He knows much of which I do not, and could be of some assistance."

"Surely, he may join us." Cecil said whole-heartedly, though inside it was more like half-hearted...maybe quarter-hearted.

"Perhaps he can help us find a way to get through to the Mysidians," Hector suggested, as though he was trying to justify Philips presence in the chamber. They made their way to the east door and the guards quickly pushed the doors away into the meeting room. "Make them understand the severity of the situation."

"Perhaps..." Cecil followed as the guards slowly pulled the doors shut behind them, leaving the warmth of the great hall in their wake.

_ Perhaps... _

** ::: **

Cecil watched from his balcony as the last of the grand carriages pulled through the castle gates, the portcullis slowly shutting the mouth of Baron, like a yawn that had lasted too long. Though the Paladin King was in good spirits after the fine banquet and his good time spent with Hector, he still had the look of everlasting loneliness. He couldn't exactly place what was missing, and he wasn't even sure if there actually was something troubling him. But there had to be, for he could only find comfort in the moon, hanging a bit higher in the sky now that the night had grown a few hours older. He even had Rosa fooled, which was no easy task.

_ I told you the banquet would perk you up, _ she had said as they sent their guests on their merry way. Cecil had tried hard to make himself seem as though he was enjoying the warm moments, the sweet atmosphere. He couldn't help feeling like he was lying to his own wife a little when he acted so happy and joyful, pretending to enjoy this new life that he had been given. He felt strangely uncomfortable having all these great things he had been given, all this prosperity and love, as though perhaps he didn't deserve them. It was a simple thing that troubled his waters, swirling his emotions into a tempest, and it was so obvious he could not even see it. He did not know who he was.

"Why am I not happy?" Cecil begged the moon, as though he could hear words falling through the pale beams that shimmered on his face. It only answered him with silence, which was no surprise as that's how it answered him every night. "I feel as though this life is not mine, and that I should turn it over to its rightful owner, but how can that be? What is it that finds me here?"

The moon continued to wash him in its soft glow, giving Cecil nothing more than its presence for support. Somehow that always seemed to help, just to have it there for him to see, as if it would stand there with him on that balcony for all eternity. But even the moon had better things to do, and Cecil didn't always have its company to count on. Those were the worst nights, when the moon was in full shadow, or when the storms rolled through the night sky. In those times he was able to find Rosa as a spiritual replacement, but even now in these troubled times, he was finding her less and less beneficial for soothing his mind. He was left only with the moon, the only other soul with which he could find something in common. Loneliness.

The faint scratch of night slippers scampering across smooth stone took Cecil's attention for a moment, nearly turning him around to see his wife standing behind him. But his eyes begged to stay on the night, fearing the moon may disappear should they lose sight of it. Rosa came up from behind and wrapped her loving arms around Cecil's waist, squeezing ever so lightly. He could feel her warm skin through his linens, and it almost enticed him to look away for just a moment. Yet his eyes never left the white light falling from the heavens, guiding him some place where he could find hope in peace.

"Feeling lonely again?" her words slipping so smoothly into his ears, chilled by the night. Though she knew how he felt on the outside at that very moment, he knew she couldn't possibly understand just what he truly felt on the inside.

"Remember when, from since we were little kids, we could sit out at night and watch two moons walk hand-in-hand across the sky?" Cecil spoke with a failing tone of sentiment, sounding more melancholy than anything. "Now it's but a lone heart, searching for its lost love."

"I do remember," she answered so tender and true, as though she could feel Cecil's spirit through his very skin. She squeezed a little tighter to her husband as she spoke. "But the moon never had a choice. Your love, my dear Cecil, is right here."

Cecil found he could keep his eyes no longer and turned to hold his lovely wife, her silken nightgown covering just enough for her to get away with. It was practically see through anyway, but Cecil had his eyes only on her beautiful face. Her hazel eyes were accented so clear in the moonlight, and he knew if there were such things as angels, he was holding one.

"Come on to bed." she urged her woebegone husband to follow her hand, slowly across the stone face of the balcony and through the gentle swaying curtains. Cecil took a final glance at the moon, and it cried for him, weeping for its lost love never to be found. It took everything he had not to share its tears, to keep from breaking down in the middle of his balcony and cry out to the heavens. Passing through the translucent drapes, setting his sorrowed eyes to her stunning visage, he felt somewhat healed. The sheets were soft, and her skin was warm. The clouds rolled overhead and it began to rain.

** ::: **

The morning sun pierced savagely through cracks and curtains, drowning the considerable bedchamber in its radiant life. Yet the dreaming couple stayed in peaceful slumber, curled around each other as though they could find no other place to ever be. Even the erratic chirps of birds flying nearby could not rouse the dozing pair, as though the sheets would not let them free of their pleasant prison. What did happen to wake them was the sudden pounding of a strong fist against their chamber door.

Cecil's eyes rolled open, quite drowsy at first as the world slowly came into focus, his wife gently stirring beside him. He sat up as the door shook steadily against the hammering hand behind it. He was a bit annoyed at first, for he saw no reason for someone to want to tear down his door at this hour of the morning. But then he became quite curious, wondering just what reason there might be for such a wake-up call. He slid from under his sheets calmly, leaving Rosa still half-asleep while the thunder of bone on wood rattled throughout the room. She eventually opened her eyes to see her husband make his way to take a royal robe from the stand, mumbling something sarcastic as the man behind the door ceased to persist.

"What's the meaning of all this noise!" Cecil yelled through the wooden door before he even reached it, hoping it would perhaps stop the incessant pounding that he could feel in his head. The knocking did stop, however, the room was now filled with such silence that Cecil feared he had gone deaf. He reached for the shimmering golden handle of his door, his thin reflection quite clear on its surface. He pulled just enough to give the messenger enough room to breathe the King's air, and Cecil's eye fell sharp upon the young man. "State your reason for this unearthly disturbance."

"I have a message for you, Your Majesty," the messenger spoke with a weak tongue, clearly about to wet his pants out of fear of His Majesty's wrath. His eyes spoke "frightened little boy" and Cecil heard the words quite well, and his eyes answered with "you should be".

"You wake me up like this for a message?" Cecil was close to fuming, but he didn't want to scare the young messenger off, for then he may never get this supposed important message. The frightened eyes took a moment to gain composure before answering the angry eyes.

"It's urgent, sir."

"From whom?"

"From Mysidia, Your Majesty," the words couldn't have hit Cecil's ears fast enough. His face suddenly was brighter than ever, and the door was opened wide for the young man to breathe his own air.

"Why did you not say so to begin with!" Cecil exclaimed, half out of pure excitement, half out of some irritancy that he had been so rude to this messenger. Cecil reached his hand out quickly to retrieve the now officially important message. "Have you an idea of what it says?"

"No, Your Majesty. The note said it should be delivered directly to you with as much haste as possible."

"It must be their agreement with the treaty," Cecil spoke fast and more towards the message in his hands than to anyone else. The messenger still stood in the doorway, with a sly tilt of his body to perhaps get a glimpse of Rosa in her nighties. Cecil was quick to have his free hand on the door, nearly not even taking the time to warn the messenger before it slammed in his face.

"You are free to go, thank you." Cecil said quickly before the last crack of space between the room and the stairwell was closed off by a thick chunk of door. The ecstatic young King was quickly finding himself at the foot of his bed, Rosa finally sitting up to observe her husband's overwhelming joy. Cecil plumped his rump down on the forgiving feather mattress and began to tear at the binding, Rosa crawling across the bed to rest up against Cecil's soft robed back. She could feel his brisk and deep breaths as they nearly lulled her back to sleep. And then they stopped, the breathing, the softness of his robes, and all she could hear was his heart pounding inside of his ribs. She scaled the short mountain of his shoulders and wrapped an arm over his chest, resting her chin in the nook between his shoulder and neck. Cecil's hands were shaking, and the letter threatened to shred and fall from his sweaty fingers.

"What does it say?" she asked with a sleepy tone of concern. When he didn't answer her, she woke up a bit more and took a good look at his face. It was unusually pale, his eyes so wide that they could roll from their sockets at any moment and plop onto the floor. Not a breath escaped his open mouth, and for a moment she was genuinely frightened. "Cecil, what's wrong!"

Cecil started to breathe again, slowly and hesitant, but his mouth was wavering with the moving air between his lips. Rosa calmed a bit, but still was somewhat worried about what could stun her husband in such a way. His eyes never ventured from the letter, but his mouth began to move, and his voice seeped out with a tone of utter shock.

"This letter...is from Mysidia..." he stuttered through thoughts that collided in mid-stride from his brain to his throat, and he couldn't help staring at this one word jumping at his eyes from the parchment. He read it over and over again, just the one word, and it paralyzed him inside. His voice came once more, with significant gaps in each phrase. "I must go immediately...today...I must leave for Mysidia today..."

"Cecil, what's going on?" Rosa pleaded for her husband to regain some of his sanity and answer her with a complete sentence. She held his shoulders tight and put her face next to his, and she could feel the cold sweat dripping from his skin. "Please, tell me."

"I have to go..." Cecil continued to pace his thoughts, never exactly sure where they would lead to next. He simply spoke what felt like coming out, and all the while this one word is burning his eyes, filling him with such a staggering shock. His throat was so dry that he felt as though it might bleed with the words he spoke. "It's about my _..._ mother _._ "

 


	2. The Riven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil leaves immediately for Mysidia after learning that his biological mother is alive. Rydia struggles with a decision to leave the Land of the Summons.

"Your _mother_?!"

Cecil was racing back and forth between his wardrobe and his trunk, filling it with anything and everything he could possibly get his hands on. Rosa was staring utterly baffled and wide eyed as her husband looked to be pushing the brink of insanity. She was equally shocked at the contents of the letter, reading and rereading it herself to make sure she had heard her husband correctly. Cecil's face was scattered with sparkles of sweat standing stagnant on his skin, unfazed by his constant movement across his bedchamber. Though he could hear her voice, he was consumed by so many other thoughts that the words she spoke couldn't have possibly made any sense to him.

"Cecil, can you please stop for a minute and explain how this is even possible?!" she was almost yelling at him as he paced quickly towards her, only to turn away just as swiftly and make his way back to grab whatever he could, as if her words had no chance of ever keeping up with him. As he made another pass towards the fashionably crafted crate, overflowing with clothes and personal effects, she tried once more to break his concentration. She reached out quickly, latching with a surprising strength to his arm, dragging him and his utmost reluctance back towards the bed next to her.

"Rosa, please, let me go." he demanded with a soft spoken hint of dire urgency, giving her even more reason to pry into his mind and discover what he was truly feeling at that moment. They stared at one another for a long, desperate moment, as though the conversation had continued in some other plane of existence, where words were written on faces, within one's eyes. She held his arm tight, though he made no attempts to break her restraint. He wouldn't hurt her even if he had to. He could only plead for his freedom, if not with his words then with his longing eyes, the depths of a fading hope weeping.

"Please, just talk to me about this," she beckoned so softly that he could swear her words were meant for his ears, forever shared between them and no other. Though as much as he wanted to tell her everything, he didn't know where to start. It pained him to every extent to have her clutching so desperately to someone she should be able to trust, and he wouldn't stand to lose that. If he could have created some coherent picture of his feelings, he would give her a thousand words. That coherency was far from what he could possibly make of the stirrings in his soul, but he could only hope that it could be found by going to Mysidia.

"Rosa, I..." as if the words were never meant to leave his mouth, they stopped before ever finishing the sentence. His eyes fell slowly, ashamed, to the ivory sheets swirled and wrapped around his lovely wife. He was so deeply sorrowed for everything he was doing, for what pain he was going to cause her for leaving like this, but tears never made it to his eyes, too cowardly to even show themselves. He had never really been called a coward before, but some part of him was yelling the word over and over again, and he felt like he was that dark knight years ago who never could face up to the King. Those thoughts washed away rather quickly as Rosa's hand graced his chin, her thin, elegant fingers pressing lightly against his cheeks as she lifted his eyes back up to hers. She was smiling, a wholly unexpected emotion, and he couldn't help but smile back. He wondered if she understood what he was feeling, or if he was simply going insane.

"Cecil, we've been through more trials and troubles in our lives together than some have in a lifetime," she consoled with her warm words, her warm touch, her warm smile, and most of all her warm heart. He couldn't help but feel her radiance when she was so close to him, and yet there were emotions trying desperately to push it back, to not let the wall break down just yet. "I can see how this can be something so difficult for you to say. I love you, and I know you love me, and I have no doubt in my mind that—"

"Do you trust me?"

Rosa was stunned. Had the words come from any other mouth she never would've been so surprised, but from her own husband. Cecil flinched when she finally came out of her petrified state and launched herself rigidly upright with a defensive stare.

"What?" her voice was so quiet, yet undeniably stern, her face unwavering as her lips quivered ever so slightly. "Of course I trust you."

"Then please, my love, let me go." He never raised his voice in the least, showing his unremitting love for her and her compassion. He knew she could feel the wrong in his voice, and in his heart, and he could only beg for her forgiveness in this one indiscretion. "This is something I must do, and I must do alone. There are questions in my life that I feared I would never have the answers to. Now is my chance to find those answers. To make a connection in my life I thought lost forever. I'm sorry, and I love you, but I must go."

They sat there together, eyes speaking so fluidly through waves of emotions carried between them. It was a moment of time where everything seemed to fall into place, and things were set in stone for those few priceless seconds that every mind reached out for. His eyes couldn't possibly blink, for her face was too perfect, and her eyes would not stop whispering her affection. If he missed a word he would be lost, and the moment would be gone. His face never changed, but every inch of his soul was smiling so wide that it itched to burst from him. She understood.

"Okay," she finally whispered through her ruby lips, and he thought of roses as she leaned in to kiss him. Warm roses, that's what he felt, and he could've lay there in her garden of flowers for eternity. But reality washed over him as she let him go, her lips falling from his, a bit melancholy. He was slightly startled to see a solemn tear hanging so lonely atop her cheek. Cecil reached out a gentle hand, and with a graceful stroke of his thumb the tear was gone. Rosa shut her beautiful eyes and held her hand over his, pressing it lightly against her flushed skin. "If this message speaks the truth, then I understand your need to find this missing piece of yourself. It has been so long since we've had something to separate us like this, but like every instance past, I know you'll come back. You always came back."

"And I always will," Cecil could feel such an amazing response through her tender hand, and he felt as though a tear might make itself known in his own eyes. But he was so happy, and eternally grateful for her, to know she truly understood what he was trying to convey through his heavy beating heart. She opened her eyes, and she was met with his bright smile, to which she could only bear her own. "I could never leave you. I owe you too much."

A playful slap against the arm was Cecil's reprimand for such a remark, but they continued to smile. Her lips turned a bit coy, and she slid slyly across the mattress, through the sheets and into her husband's lap.

"You're right," she said in the most coquettish voice, and Cecil knew right away just what she was after. "You do owe me."

** ::: **

She could've walked through these caves blind if need be, and sometimes she would close her eyes just to prove it to herself. She knew every inch of this terrain, and the guards had become so used to her little nightly strolls that they rarely moved at all to heed her footsteps. Of course they couldn't completely ignore her, for more often than not she would tease them, or sneak up on them just for fun. There was always an eye out for her, whether it be for their own backs, or just to make sure she would be alright. But they knew for a fact that she was more familiar with these dusky trails than they themselves, and more often than not she was the one looking after them. She was smart and plenty powerful, there was no doubt about that, but at the same time she was extremely vulnerable. Her journeys had given her a strong exterior, and a spirit that was unmatched, but they had also given her more woe than any one person should ever bear. Beneath that dense shell she portrayed on the outside she was the most delicate soul, more fragile than the heart that beat so strong in her chest.

"May we assist you on your walk?" a guard asked as the wandering woman approached a cavern doorway, torches carrying cold, blue flames were strung above on spider's silk, casting her pale face in a heavenly light. She smiled as she stopped before the two arachnid creatures, sixteen legs in all holding up two strong bodies that could nearly pass for human figures. A frightening sight to any visitor to these parts, but in her eyes they were some of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen. She gave a short bow before the two guards and their long legs, greeting them with more respect than they usually received.

"No, but thank you," the woman returned, still smiling somewhat joyfully, but perhaps not as lively as usual. The guards knew something was amiss, but neither had the courage to pry. "Tonight I must be alone. And don't worry...I'll come back."

They often worried that she would leave them and never come back, for there were times that her walks above ground lasted far too long for their worrying minds. Although she was not born there, she was as close as family to their entire community, almost as if everyone had a hand in her upbringing. That's how she felt as well, and it was why she thought she would never leave. But then again, that was the problem she was after. She didn't really know what she was to do. She didn't truly know who she was.

"As you wish, Lady Rydia."

The guards receded from the umbral passageway and allowed her through, watching with utmost care as Rydia walked by, her emerald hair cascading down her back, washing over her bare skin with each step she took. It blended well with the shimmering jade of her cope which fell gently over her shoulders and down her front side, coming together at the small of her back where the tranquil sea of her long-curled hair ended. She even had boots to match.

"Please, be careful."

Always looking after her, even if they knew she could more than handle any trouble that came her way. She still loved to hear them say it, for she knew there would always be someone who cared about her here, and it brought her back every time. And yet there was an undeniable fear that there would be a day that these feelings would pass, and she would indeed leave the underground. She knew that day was drawing near, for her sorrows were growing rapidly, and she longed for something to soothe them.

As she passed through the last cavern she wondered if this was the last time she would see the summoned spirits in the village beneath her. Though the den was well lit by the magma flow just outside the cave door, she could see nothing but pitch black in the recesses of the heavy-webbed floor. But she could picture it quite well, and she knew her chocobo - the only spirit creature she knew before she had ever reached this place - was standing at the very edge of town...watching and waiting. He often told her that he would watch over her on her ventures outside, and he would always be waiting for her upon her return, asking more questions than she could answer at once. A talkative creature, but then again most chocobos are. Rydia smiled and gave a small wave of her hand, assuring her closest friend that she had indeed made it out alright.

She hopped over the last spot just before the cavern door, keenly aware that the particular recess in the floor harbored a deadly snare that incited ones good health to drop a bit. She giggled a bit when she remembered the first time she came here with Cecil and the others, and the mishap with that first step. Though Cecil was usually a man of great patience, foretold by his relationship with Rosa, the heat in the underground had made him a bit cranky. So of course he was in a bit of a rush to get inside when Rydia finally pointed out the cave. Being the natural leader that he is, he charged in first to ward off any monsters that may have been lying in wait...or at least that's what he had said. Everyone else knew he just wanted to get out of the god-forsaken heat. Boy was he sore after that first step. It didn't help that his armor was a great conductor for the magical shock that ran up his right leg. If anything he was a bit hotter than he was before, and he was cursing the whole way through the caves. Luckily he had managed to compose himself upon reaching the village, although the creatures there, had they overheard him, may not have known all the words he spat.

Those were the memories that she yearned for, to be able to share all those feelings she once had with her friends living in the upper world. Though she could share her happiness, her sadness, and everything in-between with all of the spirit creatures down below, they could never quite grasp just how human emotions flowed. It wasn't their fault, and she knew that, but it built up over time and she craved another human being to share her cross.

The magma current was especially strong at that particular hour, and Rydia wondered if she would see the Dwarves trying another prototype vessel that would sustain the tremendous heat. She had seen a few ships—undwarfed—sailing down the magma flow for a good while, only to suddenly burst into flames and sink. Fortunately they had plenty of metal to deal with, as all their tanks had been completely scrapped after the war. Cecil had tried many times to help them build an airship, which would keep them from dealing with the magma altogether, but they refused. Dwarves are, naturally, afraid of heights.

She waited a moment longer, just in case she might catch a glimpse of a gleaming iron ship charging down the way. She figured they had either already failed today, or had given up altogether which would've been the smarter choice. Knowing that, she opted for the former. It's not that the Dwarves were unintelligent in any way, but more like they were just overzealous and extremely persistent in their pursuits. And they had plenty of metal to waste, so it wasn't really all that bad of an idea to pursue.

Rydia turned from the thick, golden ocean and made her way around the cave entrance to a small path that led to the top of the lilliputian mountain, the only visible sign that anything actually existed on the island. She had made the path herself after the war, of course with a little help from her friend, the Titan. She started frequenting this trail not long after returning from Cecil's wedding to the fair lady Rosa. It was so peaceful up there, watching over the great glowing emulsion that consumed most of the underground, the Tower of Babil standing like spears piercing the skin of the upper world to the far north which always brought back a memory or two. The great opening, or the junction as it was now called, was just a short ways east of Babil, and a fresh morning sun was coming in at a sharp angle, creating a toppling tower of light against the haze of the underground. Rydia soon realized that she had seen neither the sun nor the moon in nearly two years. It was a strange feeling, but she actually missed them.

As her footsteps followed old footprints past, she found her troubles already falling behind, left at the bottom of the red rock. Her robes seemed to radiate an even more heavenly green above the magma's brilliant light, and her hair was but a lovely curtain hanging behind her. Such peace and serenity was hard to find anywhere else, and she wondered why this was the only place she could leave her tears to melt the ground. She hadn't even reached the top before she began to weep; though once she made it there it didn't take long for her eyes to drown in her emotions left far and away.

She sat upon a small smoothed stone, crafted by the Titan himself for her lonely joy. He always enjoyed making her happy any way he could, and he would often make bad jokes that never really made any sense, but she would laugh anyways. She remembered when they finished the trail he had said, _"Now Rydia, a rolling moss gathers big stones, so don't you go rolling down this mountain anytime soon."_ She couldn't help but laugh, even if it was the worst joke she had ever heard. He was trying so hard that she would've felt bad not to, but at the same time it was just amusing to see a being such as he attempting to use a human colloquialism. But as humorous of a memory as that was, it somehow didn't compare to the memories she felt before, when she was with the two people she loved the most: Cecil and Rosa.

_ Why am I not happy...? _ Her thoughts poured from her mind as freely as her tears, her face falling into her hands, drying the streams that spilled from her eyes. She couldn't stop them if she wanted to, but it felt as though it was helping, falling droplets from her cheek, taking her misery down the trodden path. But she would never be rid of it all, unable to leave every bit of her pain on this peak, for even if she did it would just be waiting for her return. _There must be a way to leave my mournful soul._

As she sat upon that rock, wondering what her life was meant to be, she felt so incredibly lost. Beneath her was a place she had called home for so many years, and never once had she ever felt like this before while she was down there. But out here it was like tearing down a curtain and revealing all the pain that was hiding behind it, all the grief that would suddenly jump out and latch onto her heart. She wondered if it was a sign, and if it was she certainly wondered just what it meant. It wasn't any one thing that she could possibly describe to herself, and she had tried on so many occasions, only to come up with more tears to hold in her trembling hands. As much as it hurt, it felt so good to simply let it go, to have the emotions drain through her eyes and vanish there on the rocks. But she knew she couldn't continue like this, and it was getting progressively worse each and every time she would ascend her mountain. Something was missing, she suddenly came to realize, and she knew she would not find it here. She would not find it in the tears she shed, nor in the beings she called her family, and there was only one other thing she could do. A breeze came in from the upper world as a welcoming hand to take away her tears, and she was grateful.

"I have to leave..." she spoke solemnly to the wind as its graceful draft wisped by, closing her sodden eyes as she lifted her face into its peaceful path...

** ::: **

...taking the last tear to descend his cheek away in an offering to the morning air, his face bathed in the sun's everlasting warmth, and the clouds stirred in his wake. The airships were just then sailing over Baron's coast, and Cecil stood like a flagship statue carved into the front of the bow. He watched the last bit of land disappear beneath him, melting into a rich blue, and he realized all that he was leaving behind for this; his solitary hope that perhaps he could finally make sense of his life, that this one person would give him all the answers. He couldn't wait to see his mother.


	3. The Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rydia confronts King Leviathan and Queen Asura about her decision to leave. Cecil lands in Mysidia to find his mother has befallen a strange illness, and may not have much time left.

_ Blessed be the angel  _

_ that has fallen from her path,  _

_ for it is the will of her fate,  _

_ her destiny that beckons  _

_ through the night... _

Rydia stepped with utmost care through the sacred portal, hidden deep in the bowels of the library. As quietly, and as cautiously as she walked, she still felt as though she was disrupting a world of peace, as though her aura was shattering a holy tranquility. As soon as her foot touched the hallowed floor of the Royal Chamber she wanted to turn around and go back, pretend like the thought had never even crossed her mind. She sank a bit into the soft webbing beneath her as her mind continued to race over whether or not she should have come, but she was startled to find that she had been expected.

"Rydia, my dear child, I was beginning to worry that you would not make it," the softest voice she had ever heard filled her ears, and a being of everlasting light fell slowly from above. Rydia's bright green eyes sparkled in her beauty, and she couldn't help but smile. The elegant Queen Asura set her graceful foot upon the floor, and took a step towards the bedazzled girl before her, a hand extended with her warmest welcome. "Come, child."

Asura was the embodiment of grace, with her flowing satin robes, the face of an angel, and hair that fell like a delicate golden rain over her shoulders. It didn't matter that underneath it all she was simply another underworld creature, a being that was anything but human. The Queen knew that Rydia preferred her human form, for it was how she had first come to see her when she woke up in this alien land. It always brought some sort of comfort to the green-haired summoner, and if there was ever a time that she needed it, it was now.

"How did you—?"

"Shh," the hush rushed from the Queen's lips, and Rydia dared not break whatever silence she requested. Asura's hand beckoned the girl's company once more as she spoke. "We will talk. There are questions and answers awaiting us both."

Rydia had no choice, for the siren had lured this mind to its whim. Her pale, tender hand fell into that of the Queen, and she was led down the wide corridor with a gentle guidance. Her feet lifted ever so slightly that it felt as though she was floating beside her Queen. Rydia finally took the chance to glance around the darken path, and she wondered why they had no torches lit for them to see. It stole her breath away for a brief moment as the first two torches ignited on the walls where they once stood, following their slow trot down the way, always staying one step behind. Slowly but surely, as the Queen and her earth-born child entered the cavernous throne room, the entire area was bathed in a comfortable glow. Rydia felt like she was at home, or maybe she felt like she wanted to be at home.

_...and her heart yearns _

_ for that place it calls home, _

_ fight it not her clouded mind, _

_ for her heart is stronger _

_ than any other... _

Rydia thought she could hear the still flow of muffled whispers, and she looked to her Queen in hopes for an answer. But Asura simply smiled and led her further into the chamber, saving some sense of dismay behind her porcelain face. As they finally came to a leisurely stop, Rydia turned her eyes forward to see the royal thrones before her, polished into perfect gold, mirroring the heavenly essence of life that filled the room. There upon the King's throne sat none other than King Leviathan himself, and in his human form no less. He was motionless as he rested in the embrace of his gilded companion, eyes strangely closed, as though he were actually taking a nap there in front of them. But Rydia noticed, as his head tilted back to rest upon the rachis of his throne, that his lips were moving smoothly to some unheard rhythm that only he could feel. He was chanting to those above, perhaps the Goddess Bahamut herself, but Rydia still found it so unusual, for she had never seen him do anything like this before.

"For whom does he pray?" Rydia almost didn't get to finish the question as she realized Asura was no longer at her side, but was moving towards her respective throne beside the King. The Queen did stop, however, as she heard the faint voice following desperately after her. As serene as the sunrise the Queen turned with the brightest smile, filling Rydia's eyes with more light than any torch could burn. But she felt as though she knew the answer before the words ever reached across the space between.

"For you."

Even though she somehow knew those words were coming, it still left her completely awe struck. Her eyes burned of dryness for she forgot to blink, and a few tears wet them down for her, though these tears would never touch the ground. She wouldn't let them. Coming out of her state of shock, she closed her gaping mouth also dry from the warm air, glancing back and forth between the two beings she had come to call her mother and father. Asura glided delicately up to her beautiful throne, making herself quite comfortable in its gentle hands. The King finally opened his eyes, and his old and withered face did its best to seem happy. Rydia could barely make out a smile through the shimmering silver beard that washed over his lips, a gleaming curtain that trailed down his vestments of an overflowing ocean blue. But his eyes seemed quite heavy with something he had been worried of for some time, and she could see it reaching out for her. She couldn't help but see through them, and she realized why they had been expecting her. They knew.

"Rydia, it's always a pleasure to have your presence here with us," Leviathan spoke gruffly through his beard, yet still seemingly feeble in some way. He wasn't prepared for what he had to say at all, and Rydia could tell, but she couldn't possibly blame him. It was so out of the blue that she had come to decide this. With a deep breath, the King went on, "Though it seems that you may have something you wish to tell us. Do not worry, child, for though we may not fully understand, we shall nurture your will."

"Most gracious, Your Majesty." Rydia curtseyed before him, taking her time as she piled together what she thought would manage as a good explanation. Upon her eyes falling into Leviathan's apprehensive stare, the pile was scattered again, and she had to piece her story together as she spoke, "I have come here for less a reason to say 'hello'...but more to profess a formal 'goodbye'."

"Goodbye?" the Queen startled, causing Rydia to wonder if she knew what the King was hiding behind his sorrowed eyes. The look on Asura's face, that pale look of innocence dashed was more than enough to let on that Leviathan had not yet warned her of his premonitions. "Where are you going, my dear?"

Rydia turned her head to the floor for a moment, feeling so wretched under their sad, inquiring eyes. She didn't want to desert them, to leave them stranded here in the underworld without her, and if anything she would want them to go with her. Before she knew it she was fighting back the tears, though she did not have to fight hard, for they would never fall from her eyes in this place. That's the only way she knew that she had to go on, as heart-wrenching as it may be. She lifted her face with all the will she could summon and met the gaze of her underworld parents once again. But now the Queen did not seem so frightened through her eyes, and the King had his hand entwined with hers, guiding her to understanding. His knowledgeable visage was enough to settle Rydia's troubled conscience, though his words cleared every shadow of doubt.

"Though I lament, I feel a sense of assurance in your decision," he spoke raspy but warm, and Rydia was beginning to feel a little better as he went on, "I have foreseen this since the day you began your new life here, but I cannot foresee the reason. I can only ask why."

"I...have to find something," was all that Rydia could muster up from the traffic jam of answers cluttered in her head. Though she wasn't even sure what she was looking for, she knew what she had felt, and it was all she needed. "I lost something two years ago...and I've been losing it a bit more every day since then. I fear that if I don't find it...my soul may never be happy."

"My dear Rydia. What is it that you have lost?" Asura asked somewhat hesitantly, as if she was afraid of the answer, though she masked it with overbearing concern. "Are you sure it is not something you can recover here?"

"I wish I could say yes," Rydia began mournfully, seeing Asura's woe grow with every word, "But I've tried searching here, and unless I leave I will never truly know what I'm looking for. I have to know where I belong..."

There was a moment of serene silence as Rydia trailed off in a thought, and her eyes met the floor, wondering for a brief moment if this was what she had come here to say. Asura clutched her King's hand tight as she gazed anxiously at the summoner girl, hoping for something that possibly was never there. Leviathan only wanted to understand, to somehow grasp this emotion that Rydia had flowing through her veins, though a part of him wished this day had never come. As Rydia's eyes once more met the forlorn faces of those before her, she could only say what was in her heart.

"I have to find my true home."

There was an uncomfortable shiftiness on Asura's part, for that one thing she was hoping for had now been lost, and Rydia could see it in her soft-glowing white eyes. Rydia couldn't help but think that she had made those eyes just a little darker this day, though Leviathan still had yet to find the dark in this situation. He leaned forward a bit to get a deeper look into those evergreen stars that lit up so bright in Rydia's eyes, trying to find some hint of what Rydia felt. He could only fathom that her words flowed from some higher power than that of human logic.

"Is this place no longer your home, Rydia?" the King asked kindly, though a bit more soft-spoken. It was his natural misunderstanding of the human emotion that had him so lost, and yet he only wanted to know what drive welled within her. He had always envied her sense of feeling, from the depths of one's heart, for he had never experienced anything such as loneliness.

"I don't know anymore. As much as I regret having to leave you, I have to answer my heart." Rydia felt as though her soul was pouring out of her, "And it's telling me that I must go."

"Are you sure we cannot help you?" Asura pleaded, "At least let us try."

"Please, Asura, she knows more of this than we ever could. We must let her go. We would only get in the way." Leviathan calmed his overwhelmed Queen, seeing that she had yet to grasp the situation their summoner child was in, though his grip was not much better. His hand held tight to hers, assuring her that he knew what had to be done. He turned his eyes back to the jade angel before him, her face looking more astray with each passing moment. He couldn't bear to see her this way, and he knew he had no way of stopping the human heart. He could only pray for her, as he had done ever since she climbed that mountain for the first time. She had never been the same since then, losing a little bit of her cheerful soul each day. "Rydia, I could never fully understand how you feel, but I know that the human heart is stronger than any force, even the will of the Gods. I can only give you my best wishes on your journey, and may Bahamut watch over you, where ever you may go."

"I...I don't know how to thank you," Rydia was a bit choked up; for she realized that this was it, her last goodbye before she left. It began to dawn on her that she may never see them again, be it that her soul is found in a new home. That swell of angst was deep in her throat, and she pushed hard to express her gratitude. "If I find that my home is not in this place, then I want you to know...I want everybody to know...that I love you all more than I could've ever imagined."

"Come what may, dear Rydia, we will always hold you close here, and you always have the privilege to call upon us." Asura responded as she began to come around, making that shade of white in her eyes a little brighter. The Queen finally realized that no persuasion could turn this green-haired scion of the summoners away from her decision.

"Now go, child," Leviathan offered with a lighter tone of sorrow in his eyes, and his smile much more evident in his silver beard. "Your journey and your soul await."

"Thank you..." she said softly, barely able to hold back what emotions were trying to break out of her, "...so much."

Rydia gave a slow and graceful curtsey before the King and Queen, each one now smiling a mixture of compassion and concern. She closed her eyes as she lowered her head, her hair raining down over her cheeks. She couldn't even feel the tear squeeze itself from the corner of her eye. Lifting her body upright, opening her eyes to the embodiments of everlasting light and peace in their grace, she wished for a moment that she could find her home here, with these loving creatures. But she turned, nevertheless, and she still could not feel the tear as it descended her lonely cheek, dripping from its steep cliff and landing peacefully on the throne room floor.

_...and though she may cry, _

_ leave not those tears before her, _

_ but instead behind her, _

_ so that she may soon find _

_ the truth... _

** ::: **

_ The truth that he may _

_ or may not want to hear,  _

_ for it is his choice,  _

_ and his choice alone  _

_ to take that truth  _

_ into his life,  _

_ to find his lost soul... _

"Cecil, welcome back!"

Cecil's elegant cape washed over his shoulder as he took the last step from the rope ladder, turning to face the young heralds behind him. It was strange, but he still felt a pang of some echoing discomfort as he descended from his airship, much like he had felt long ago when the shadow of death seemed to follow him everywhere. If it weren't for the blinding sun bouncing radiantly from his ivory armor he would've sworn he was a dark knight again, coming to steal their precious crystal.

Cecil managed to catch himself from his daydream as the two young mages hurried to wrap their arms around his legs. Cecil's brooding manner became a warm joy as he bent down to hug the twins that had once saved his very life. Even if the entire town of Mysidia hated his guts, he could be happy here knowing that these two cared about him. Fortunately the entire town did not hate his guts, but there was the occasional mage or two that simply would not let the past go. But these two knew him well, possibly better than he himself.

"Palom. Porom. It's been ages, look at you two," Cecil let them go so he could get a good look at the twins, the genuine smiles on their young faces a welcome sight. Even though they had grown a few years since he last saw them, they still had every bit of that warm innocence in their faces...or at least Porom still had it. The one thing that had thrown him off at first was their clothing, now each one wearing their respective mage order robes. "You've grown so much since I last saw you, and I could hardly recognize you in your new attire."

"You like the new duds?" Palom tugged a bit on the sleeves of his deep blue cloak, fixing it up so that he would look real nice for the ladies. Porom just rolled her eyes as she tried her best to disregard her unmannerly sibling.

"I'm sure you remember how to ignore him, Sir Cecil," Porom spoke with that same tone of wisdom that contrasted so sharply with her brother. Cecil always felt that if they didn't look alike then no one would ever know they were related. Though it had only been two years since he last saw her, she looked as though she had grown at least four. She was a full foot taller than he remembered, and she was actually taller than Palom, which surely didn't make him happy at all. But past the physical plane, he could see that she had grown far more intelligent than any child should ever be at her age. She was only ten years old and she was already training in the higher level magic classes with the elder wizards. It brought a smile to Cecil's face to see something as special as these two children, Porom beaming in her white robes, embellishing her purity, and Palom...picking his nose. Cecil held in the urge to laugh as the black mage quickly realized he was being stared at on his gold digging venture, taking the finger quickly from his nostril and hiding it behind his back.

"What? What are you two lookin' at!" Palom tried to play it cool, looking rather peeved that he had been caught. Cecil and Porom rolled their eyes with a sigh as the Paladin King picked himself up to stand with the two Red Wing guards that had descended from the airship and were now approaching behind him. Palom took his usual initiative to speak candidly. "Hey, who are these chumps?"

"Hush, you!" Porom did what she did best, and with a hand to the back of her brother's head he was silent. Palom mumbled a soft "ow" as he rubbed the tender skin, realizing he had just put in his hair the very same finger that had recently been on a very successful gold hunt. He just gave up and stayed quiet, too aggravated to even think of something to say.

"I was hoping to see the Elder once I arrived," Cecil said as he glanced around the peaceful village, a bustling community that he was strangely happy to see still so full of life. He hated to think that things could've been different had those who had controlled Baron not been stopped, if he had not seen first-hand the pain that these people had endured. He flushed away those stressful memories before they brought any distasteful looks upon his face, and he once more laid a warm smile on the twins. "Is the Elder here?"

"He is, but he's been in the tower praying most of the day," Palom answered a bit too nonchalant, even for him. Cecil found it strange that the Elder would spend the better part of a day in the tower of prayers, but the children didn't seem to be bothered by it at all. If it meant less work for them then they were happy with it.

"What need does he have to pray for so long?" Cecil questioned as he directed his eyes to the sand-brick spire that climbed like an earthen hand from the center of Mysidia. It was a structure like no other, creating a unique sight to see for any traveler. Cecil still marveled at its craft, finding beauty in its simplicity. He imagined the Elder kneeling before a column of light, praying to whatever God was up there to listen, and sometimes they answered. Even Cecil had heard voices the one time he was allowed to enter the sacred chamber, when the Big Whale was summoned from the seas before them. It was the same voice that the Elder himself had heard, the voice of his alien bloodline reaching for him. He wondered if something serious was happening that he should know about, and if there was anything he could do about it. "Is there something I should know?"

"He's praying for you, Cecil."

Eyes wide and white, Cecil stared blankly at Porom as her words struck him like a silence stick. Though his mouth hung open a bit, there were no words that could find their way out of it. Even the twins' faces were a bit graver than they were a mere moment ago. The silence lasted for no more than a second, but in its brevity it had already shattered Cecil's ears, and her words seemed so quiet then.

"He was expecting you earlier this morning, and when you didn't show up he told us to wait for you," Porom continued, though Cecil seemed as though he was not entirely within himself to hear her, "He said he was going to pray that everything was alright."

"Earlier this morning?" Cecil's mind was working a bit slow at the moment and he hadn't even comprehended the last part of what she said before he found himself speaking. "I left as soon as I received the message. I couldn't have gotten here any faster."

"We figured you would've taken the Devil Road," Palom spoke up, a bit curious himself why Cecil had taken all day to fly across the ocean. The confusion on the Paladin's face was strangely alarming to both of the twins, and it was as if each of them were speaking completely different languages.

"The Devil Road?" Cecil startled a bit, wondering if perhaps Palom was joking with him. The look on the little mage's face seemed to lean away from such a jesting manner, and Cecil couldn't possibly understand what was going on, for the Devil Road had been sealed since the Crystal War. "But how could I-"

"Ah, Cecil!" the jovial voice of the Elder bounded across the grassy field, hooking Cecil's eyes with a sharp turn. The old man hadn't changed very much, though the evidence of age was beginning to show in the roots of his hair. Walking between the two children, he reached out a welcoming hand to the King, and a smile that Cecil almost found deceiving after what he just heard. "I'm happy to find you've safely arrived. Unfortunately we don't have much time to talk now. Your mother may not be at her senses much longer and it is imperative that you see her now."

"My mother..." Cecil had nearly forgotten the very reason he had come here, so deeply lost in his developing political mind. Issues such as the Devil Road would have to wait, for this was his relief from such duties and nothing was more important that his own family, something he had never since been able to embrace. But the Elder's words were coming to him faster now, and he was now wary of his mother's condition. "What's wrong with her?"

"There was more than what was in the message we sent to you," the Elder laid a tender-hearted hand on Cecil's shoulder, and the Paladin could tell from the look of those eyes that what he would not like what he was about to hear. "But now is not the time to discuss. We must hurry."

"Then please, take me to her," Cecil urged, as worried as he was of what ailment had found his mother, he only wanted to see her more than anything.

"Of course. Palom. Porom. Please assist Cecil's guests where ever they may need." The Elder ordered, neither twin looking too enthusiastic about their new babysitting job. "Cecil, please follow me."

The two gentlemen left in a rush, heading for a small hut at the other end of the village. Palom and Porom watched as they disappeared into the afternoon crowd, swarming the market streets. Reluctantly, they then turned to face their guests: two stone cold guards decked out in boiling bronze armor, looking rather comatose with their arms folded at their chests. The twins looked at each other with daring eyes, seeing which would have the nerve to speak up first. Naturally, Palom was the first to gather up enough sense to speak, although the words that came from his mouth would say otherwise.

"So, uh...how's the weather in Baron?"

** ::: **

Her hand was shaking as it reached into the small closet of her room, taking hold of things she didn't even know if she would need. The whole reality of her decision was slowly falling upon her, and as she picked a jade dress from the rack she held it there before her eyes. She stared at it, observed it, looked through it, into the depths of its fibers and in it she saw herself glaring back at her in dismay. She dropped the dress, backing away from its crumpled mess on the floor. She turned away and found her hand in her face, hiding her eyes from the world around her, keeping her safe for the moment. She was lost, as it had long since dawned on her, and it was beginning to tear at her. As she looked into the darkness of the palm of her hand, she saw the faces of those she was leaving behind, wondering why one of their own was going away.

_ But I'm not one of them... _

It sounded so cold the way the words crept across her mind, and it only made her feel worse. Some of these creatures here truly believed she was just one of the family, although a very unique one, a creature unlike any other. In some ways Rydia actually started believing it herself, although in light of recent events she could not bring back such notions. She was a wreck as it was, and dwelling on such a concept would not help her on her way.

"Wark!"

Rydia jumped as her hand shot down to her side, her eyes staring wide at the door of the small room. She knew exactly who was patiently waiting behind it, though she could not bear to have to explain to him what was happening. She walked over to the bed where her travel sack lay peacefully, wrapping the tie around it to keep the contents concealed. She shot a nervous glance at the door as she closed the baggage, trying her best to think of just what she was to say. The words weren't coming as easily as she would've liked, but she couldn't keep him waiting much longer.

"Wark!"

She finally remembered to breathe, and with a deep inhale of the sweet air, she felt much more relaxed. Her footsteps echoed a bit throughout the room, mostly empty aside from the bed and the closet, as she reached for the wooden handle of her door. The curtains fell over her eyes once more before she gave a graceful tug of the knob. With a slow creak of the old hinges, Rydia opened her eyes to the ruffled mess of yellow feathers pacing excitedly outside her door. When the chocobo saw her through the doorway, it bolted past her into the room, leaving a small trail of feathers behind. She knew she was going to have to clean those up before she left, and she actually found herself laughing it off.

"Hey, Chobi. Excited to see me?" Rydia asked as she closed the door, turning to her yellow-feathered friend. He was currently jumping on her bed, something he often was scolded for, though Rydia was more worried of the bag he was about to topple over. "Be careful, Chobi, you know what happened to you the last time you jumped on my bed. It took you a week before you could start running again."

"Wark!"

Rydia casually walked over and picked up the sack from under the chocobo's monstrous feet, placing it in a safe corner. As she turned back around she nearly jumped out of her skin as she came nose to nose with Chobi's considerable orange beak. He stared like a statue, and Rydia put a smile over her incredibly nervous eyes.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," Rydia softly told the creature as she stepped out of the corner, away from those glaring eyes. "You know better than that."

"Wark!"

Rydia stopped half-way across the room as the creature's call struck her down; the overgrown bird had already noticed more than she wanted. She didn't want to turn around just yet, for if she had to look into those eyes again, those eyes that she had seen in Asura and Leviathan, she worried she might never make it past her front door.

"I know I was gone too long last night. I'm sorry, Chobi." Rydia confessed to the bird behind her, wondering just what was going through his mind, be it curiosity, or perhaps fear of what she would say next. Stalling wouldn't help, however, and she was going to have to explain everything here and now. "I had a lot to think about, and I went to speak with Queen Asura and King Leviathan."

"wark..."

Something was different in his tone now, some noticeable change in his feelings that Rydia could sense more keenly than her own. She wanted to face him, but she didn't know if she was ready to give it all away just yet. That all changed as she felt the silky smooth touch of chocobo feathers nestling against her shoulder, and his beak was resting against her cheek. Though her tears welled up against the dam of her eyes, she remained adamant to letting them fall. But now she could not keep her back against her friend, for now was the time to give up the truth, as hard as it was going to be.

The feathers brushed over her back as she slowly came around to face the endlessly forgiving eyes, the most innocent soul she could imagine. She reached a hand up to stroke his beak, and his eyes disappeared beneath his feathered skin, lowering his head so she could scratch behind his ears. She smiled so sad as he began to purr, the feathers of his neck standing on end like a lion's mane. Nothing had ever been as hard as this, and she felt it like a vise, crushing her spirit in all of this anguish. Though her voice was growing frail, she continued to scratch so that he might not have to watch her cry.

"Chobi, I have to go somewhere. Somewhere far from here," she pushed hard on that lump that stood stagnant in her throat, and the tears were already beginning to fall down her delicate face. "And I might not be coming back for..." she stopped as his bashful black eyes finally opened into hers, stealing her breath for a moment. She could see her words hitting him harder than she had expected. "...for a long time. I..."

"wark?"

"Of course I'm not leaving for good," she hated to lie, but it was the only thing she could possibly think of to keep his feelings from shattering at her feet. But she really didn't know herself whether or not it was truly a lie, for her soul could be anywhere. "I have friends just like you in the upper world who miss me, and...I have other things to take care of."

Rydia had to avert her eyes, for the pitiful look of despair on that chocobo's face was ever so rueful. She shut her eyes tight, to squeeze those painful tears to the floor where they would forever rest. She couldn't think of another thing to say, for anything else she feared would rip the poor creature's heart out. But the words never had to come; for she found the very spirit she was trying to protect trying to comfort her. The gentle beak slid down under her chin, graciously lifting her head up out of its woeful hollow. Their eyes met for only a second before Rydia burst into tears, wrapping her arms around the fine feathered neck, holding so tight to her childhood friend. Her tears left beaded sparkles rolling down his feathers as she washed her fear, her troubles, and her sorrow away into the desolate air.

"I'm sorry, Chobi." she cried her dearly sorrowed confession through his golden tufts, hoping her words would hold in his heart. "I have to go."

As much as it hurt to leave his spirit so hopelessly lost like this, she had to leave before she was unable to go on. She quickly dropped her arms from the chocobo's neck before skittering errantly to the corner, eyes blurred from the sea of tears that washed abounding. She snatched the travel sack without hesitation and ran past the broken-hearted creature standing motionless in the middle of her room. She burst through the door without ever looking back, leaving a trail of tear-stained feathers in her wake, along with the one soul that cared for her more than any other. Chobi simply watched as Rydia left him there, standing in miserable awe, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

... _wark_...

** ::: **

It was dark inside, maybe only a few candles lit around the corners of the small room. As the curtain spread apart by the Elder's hand, Cecil stepped through into his greatest dream and his worst nightmare at the same time. Several men and women draped in white were standing around the bed at the moment, and Cecil could not yet see who lay there. As the Elder came in behind him there was a sudden air of attention, and the healers turned to face their Elder. Cecil had the look of a child witnessing something for the first time, though his attention was completely upon the bed before him. The Elder's hand gestured him forward as the wizards dispersed and left the room one by one, allowing the Paladin to approach the elderly woman lying there upon the unusually ornate cot.

"The adornment on this bed is meant to protect those who sleep within it." The Elder informed the astonished man creeping gently towards his mother. Cecil wasn't even listening, for the sight of a mother he had never seen in his entire life was simply too much to handle along with the Elder's words. Still he continued, "So it goes with the quilts beneath her. Here she can rest in peace, within as well as without."

Now at the foot of the bed, Cecil stood over her soft glowing body, wrapped in colorful quilts, her face surprisingly peaceful. He could only imagine that she must be happy, whether or not she knew she would wake up the next morning. He quietly made his way around to her side, kneeling down beside her, taking her tender hand in his, guiding her to his heart. He would've given it to her if he knew how, to somehow take his life and share it with her for only a moment. He cupped his hands around hers, feeding her his warmth, though her hand seemed surprisingly warm already. She was still alive, which brought a tear of joy from his eyes already moistened from the first sight of her.

"Mother..." he whispered to her lonely ear, sitting lonely on the pillow, her withered face showing an enlightened spirit beneath the skin, and her lips, turned to a slight affable smile that reminded him of his own. The more he looked, the more he could see himself in her delicate visage, though one thing that stood out was her hair. The color of a strained emerald, faded with her overlapping grey locks, giving off the shade a ghostly pale green. _I guess I got my hair from my father,_ Cecil thought waggishly as he glanced at a strand of pale silver hanging down over his forehead.

A quiet gasp yanked at Cecil's attention, his eyes focused on his mother's face as it seemed to strain for something it could not find. Cecil held tight to her hand, clutching it to his heart until she finally relaxed and found her peace once more. Cecil's eyes never blinked for fear he would miss something, and he felt like he had discovered what he had always been looking for. He couldn't explain what he felt at that moment, for there were too many emotions running through his mind, and he wouldn't know where to start. He noticed a shadow cross his mother's face as the Elder stepped across a candle flame, standing on the opposite side of the bed.

He did not speak, he just watched. He watched Cecil hold on so dearly to his mother, and he felt so strange seeing this man evolve so much emotionally. Two years ago he would've liked to strangle this man before him, but now he could only share a feeling of sorrow with him. Such feelings he could never share with people of his own village, and yet he was so open here with this man once so foreign. He could see every bit of pain and woe seeping through Cecil's eyes as he turned his head, his boundless blue eyes striking him with such angst.

"Is she...?" Cecil couldn't even finish the sentence, afraid of what it might bring if he did. The look on the Elder's face was enough of an answer, but he spoke just the same.

"Yes, Cecil. She is dying."

It shattered his already weak heart to hear it, though he only could have guessed it by how somber this scene looked. He turned his eyes, flooded with sadness, back to his mother's beautiful face, praying that she may wake up and see her son just once before she left this world. He lifted his hand to her cheek, running his fingers gracefully across her skin, weaving into her thinning hair. It left a strange glow about her as he did so, though he was the only one not to notice. The Elder stared in a bit of awe as he watched Cecil draw a river of light around her features, glittering in her hair. With his other hand he held hers to his lips, leaving a loving kiss for her to hold on to, and as he did the glow he left upon her face seemed to crawl down to her shoulder and up her arm to her hand. Once that pale white light reached his lips it disappeared, leaving with his touch as he continued to watch over her.

"She has moments when she comes to, and she will be lucid enough to speak," the Elder told the forlorn son by his mother's side. Cecil turned his sorrowed eyes in apparent attention towards the Elder as he spoke. "It's a degenerative effect of her age, yet I believe it has connections to your father and his Lunarian heritage. As soon as she fell we brought her here. The first thing she said when she first came to was that she wanted to see you. Though I am unsure how much time she has left, I brought you here as soon as possible. I can only pray that you will have the chance to speak with her."

"Did you know...?" Cecil softly inquired, not wanting in any way to sound demanding. "Did you know she was my mother?"

"No one knew," the Elder professed, "Not until she told us to find you and bring you here. Believe me Cecil, if I had known sooner..."

"I know, thank you for your concern," Cecil responded, still gazing so profoundly over his mother's lovely face. "I've been meaning to thank you for everything you've done. You've shown more faith then I ever thought you should've given me."

"You're a man who has carried more burdens than any other, from the moment you came to me as a dark knight I could see it in your eyes," the Elder dove a bit into his own feelings, for it only seemed right at the moment. "That's what gave me such amazing faith, to see you go on when everything seemed lost, to see you push through every bit of darkness in your life, simply to save those in need. Faith needs little effort next to that."

"Thank you," Cecil found those words to be the only ones he could bring together. He let a few solemn tears fall to his mother's hand before he said anything else. "May I stay with her?"

"I thought you might ask. We have a cot made for you over there," the Elder pointed out, Cecil following his shadowed finger to the small bed in the corner of the room. "We'll bring you anything you need, and there will always be a cleric outside for you."

"Thank you."

Words seemed pointless now, as the candles burned just enough to keep their faces alive, and the feeling of death lurking silently in the shadows. The Elder moved gently to slide through the split curtain, leaving Cecil to mourn in peace. The Elder stopped just before passing through the thick fabric, casting a quick caring eye to the one man who had shown him more than life itself. Cecil was everything that should be embraced in light, and he could see it as the room actually seemed brighter with his presence. The light of the candles grew stronger for him, and it was then that he realized that his lost soul had been found.

** ::: **

The sun was beginning to set behind them, as Leviathan's long slender scales refracted colors unimaginable to any mind's eye. She sat atop his head, holding tight to two long antennae that protruded just above his eyes. The first thing she did was breathe deep the sweet, filling scent of the upper world air. She could see the scarlet patterns of a sky on fire, and to the far east she noticed the looming blanket of night on the horizon. All of these sensations that she had yearned for, and she was basking in all it had to offer her. She could feel the warm sun on her back as they rose up from the great opening, climbing just over the mountain tops. It was absolutely beautiful, and if she could freeze a moment in time it would've been this one.

"Where shall I take you?" Leviathan's monstrous voice spoke surprisingly gentle. Rydia took a moment to look around, although she knew where she wanted to go. But then something came to her, and she realized that this was her journey, her time to discover herself. There was only one way she was going to do this.

"Just let me down on that mountain path there," Rydia replied, a smile stretching from ear to ear. If anything she was positively ecstatic about this, though a part of her was still mourning over her life she had left behind. But seeing all this was more than enough to wash it away, and she was eager to begin her search for home. "Don't worry about me. I'll find my way around."

"Are you sure?" Leviathan asked, just in case, "I can take you anywhere you would like to go."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, but I need this time to travel on my own." Rydia assured her King, knowing he worried for her at every possible moment. She held tight as he dove down through the mountains, weaving around peaks as they searched for a safe path to walk. "Right there, you see it?"

As the magnificent serpent made his final swoop through a wide valley, he circled above and softly hovered down for a gentle landing. Leviathan lowered his head to the ground as Rydia tossed her bag down first before vaulting off after it. Upon her landing her boot caught a rock and she slipped, sending her falling head first towards another large rock. She was caught by one of Leviathans many strange appendages that sprung from his head. He helped her stand upright before she dusted herself off with a sheepish smile.

"Thanks!" Rydia bent down to pick up her bag, throwing it over her shoulder before she cast another smile, though a bit sad this time. "Tell everyone that I'll be okay."

Leviathan nodded his mighty serpentine head, causing a small draft to wisp her hair over her shoulder. She looked utterly radiant under the heavenly sky of the upper world, and the King noticed this, seeing her bright smile come so easy here. It saddened him a bit, which also surprised him immensely, for such an emotion was a rare experience. He watched her begin her journey as she took her first steps down the valley towards a small village that rested at its mouth. He couldn't help but worry, although he knew Rydia, of all people, would be fine. If there was anything he ever learned from her, it was that she could take care of herself. He simply prayed for her, that she would find what she was looking for, where ever that may be.

_ Blessed be this wayward angel, _

_ for those things lost, _

_ and for those things found, _

_ may she come to see _

_ what lay before her _

_ and know what lay behind her, _

_ and come to be _

_ where her soul is sound _ .


	4. Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's mother finally awakens. Rydia begins her journey in Agart.

A cool draft swept in through the canvas drapes of the doorway, brushing a stroke of silver hair across Cecil's cheek. It roused him enough to realize that he had fallen asleep sitting next to his mother's cot, her hand still clutched in his fingers. He gazed at her delicate visage, wishing that she would awaken just long enough to see her son, to know that he was there for her. The Elder had told him that she had moments of lucid consciousness, but that the moments were getting farther and farther apart. Eventually, she simply would not wake up, he had said, words that felt like drops of ice running down the inside of his chest. He couldn't imagine coming this far, only to lose his only family so quickly.

"I know you will stay with me," Cecil whispered softly to his mother, hope surging through his heart to melt the chill of the uncertainty. "You called me here for a reason. I will not leave your side until I—"

A sharp sound of steel boot scraping the dry, earthen entryway stole Cecil's attention. He turned, reflexively putting a hand on the dagger that was in the hilt under his ivory cloak. His eyes only caught a glimpse of the intruder, a shimmering boot reflecting a pale blue glow against the moonlight. As quickly as he had noticed it, it was gone. Cecil stood up and carefully walked to the doorway, reaching a hand slowly into the slip of the sheet. In a swift motion he pulled the canvas away and thrust his body out into the open, prepared to defend against a possible attacker. He saw no one outside the thatched hut, despite the radiant glow of the full moon providing ample light to take in his surroundings. The village looked peaceful, only a few candles burning in a scattering of windows here and there. Cecil thought for a moment that his eyes, or possibly his mind, were creating specters from the lack of sleep. He took a last look at the moon before releasing a sigh, the tension draining from his muscles which had locked up tight in anticipation for an altercation.

As Cecil turned to go back inside he noticed movement by a nearby building, a dark cloak steadily swaying down the dirt road like the shadow of a ghost. Cecil noticed immediately that each time the cloak lifted off the ground, there was a glimmer of metal, as if the ghost was treading in steel boots. Cecil began walking towards it, blinking several times in hopes that his eyes would either make the vision go away, or would somehow allow him to see through the shadows. The person didn't seem to notice Cecil's presence, and so when he got within a comfortable distance he called out to the specter.

"Who goes there!" Cecil called to the shadow, half out of curiosity, half out of some sense of duty to protect the people of Mysidia. The shadow didn't respond, and didn't turn to look at Cecil, but instead began to run. Cecil instinctively began to give chase, a part of him excited to feel the rush of adrenaline, as he had not seen much adventure since he took the throne of Baron. He gave diplomacy another attempt. "Stop! I intend you no harm!"

The cloaked figure seemed to pick up speed, as though it sensed that Cecil was closing in. The two were approaching the high east wall of the Mysidian village, pale green vines streaking across the white stone like spider webs waiting to snare a hapless victim. Cecil assumed that he had the intruder cornered, as they had almost reached the wall and Cecil was steadily gaining. He could see the steel boots clearly now, creating alternating glimmers of blue as the cloak uncovered the trailing foot of the runner. They were only a dozen paces from the wall, and the shadow showed no signs of slowing down, but instead began to pick up speed. Cecil was becoming unsettled by the unpredictability of his pursuit, and there was little doubt in his mind that a confrontation was near. To his surprise, once again, the shadow, in a feat of near inhuman strength, leapt up to the top of the wall in a single bound, its cloak splayed out behind it like a cape. The figure perched delicately atop the parapet, as though it had precisely calculated the exact distance from the ground up. Cecil stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes focused on the shadow, which turned only for a moment to look back down at him. Cecil's eyes grew wide as he felt the gaze of someone familiar, only a single string of doubt keeping him from shouting his name. The figure then turned and vanished over the wall, the ghost of his presence still lingering.

Cecil stood there for a long moment, unmoving until the dry air wisping through his mouth caught in his throat. He wasn't sure if this entire experience was real, or if he had imagined it. He may have stood in waiting until the sunrise if the sound of soft sandals brushing through grass behind him hadn't broken the spell of stone. He turned to see three robed Mysidians striding towards him.

"Cecil, I was alerted to a commotion in the village. Has something disturbed you?" the Elder called to him, two mages striding at his side holding flames in their hands instead of torches. The Elder's demeanor was genuinely concerned, not irritated as Cecil might expect someone who was abruptly awoken in the middle of the night. "What brings you out here?"

"I'm sorry, Elder, I just—" Cecil couldn't quite find the words yet. He turned back to the wall, looking up in hopes he might see the spectral shape of someone he thought he had lost long ago. Cecil returned his gaze to the Elder, whose eyes, old and wise, were imploring for an answer. Cecil tried to swallow against the dryness in the back of his throat as he collected his thoughts. "I thought I saw someone I once knew. Someone I haven't seen for quite some time."

"The Dragon Knight, Kain." The Elder wasted no time striking through the heart of the issue. Cecil should have known by now that the Elder could see through him, as though his mind were a looking glass. "The watchmen notified me that he came into the village late this evening for supplies, a rhythm of his life's trials. I was unsure of his intentions to make his presence known to you. It appears he is not ready to face his past."

Cecil felt his heart sink a little, his eyes following suit as he stared at a patch of feathered grass dancing in the shadows of the mages' flames. His closest friend for most of his life had been through so much emotional torment through the Crystal Wars, through his submission to Golbez's dark manipulation, hurting anyone he ever loved. Cecil and Rosa had hoped he would accept the invitation to their wedding and coronation ceremony in Baron, but were not surprised by his absence. More than anything, they just wanted the opportunity to tell him that they forgave him, that their time growing up together—their friendship—outweighed his betrayal.

"I know you have forgiven him, Cecil," the Elder spoke with soft authority. He could see the struggle in the Paladin King's eyes. "But he has not yet forgiven himself. He has refused my counsel on this more than once, but ultimately he must find the strength to release his burden."

"Is there any way that I could help him?" Cecil pleaded, though he knew the answer before the Elder spoke the words.

"At this time, I think you should be here for your mother," the Elder reminded Cecil. "She may not have much time left in this world, and Kain can manage his struggles alone for now."

"You're right," Cecil admitted, glancing back at the hut where his mother lay peacefully. It seemed so far away, and Cecil started to feel that loneliness creep back into his soul, like a lantern slowly burning the last of its oil. "Thank you, Elder, and I apologize once again for my disruption."

"It is quite alright. We are here for you if there is anything you need," said the Elder. Cecil gave a respectful nod and began walking back down the dusty trail to his mother. The Elder watched the man, so strong and yet so frail at this time in his life. The moonlight glistened off his ivory armor, giving off a faint aura, as if he were a ghost of himself. The Elder wished he could have given him more to lift his spirits, but he knew that such interference was not his decision to make.

"Elder, you haven't told him of the visions you received in the Tower of Prayers," one of the mages broke the silent air.

"It is not yet the time," the Elder answered calmly, never taking his eyes off Cecil until he disappeared through the doorway of the hut. "He must face his struggles with Kain, but he cannot do it alone. For now, they are each where they need to be."

**:::**

The morning sunlight peeked over the mountains, a sliver of warmth reaching through the window and gracing the face of the Summoner from Mist. She awoke feeling like she had as a child living in the valley, half-expecting her mother to come leave a soft kiss on her forehead. It was an almost overwhelming feeling of joy, a smile stretched into her cheeks as her green eyes glistened with the sunrise. Though her mother was a distant memory, the thought of her always brought feelings of comfort. If she could freeze this moment in time, this feeling of enveloping warmth, she would take it gladly.

The Inn at Agart was peaceful, and the smell of sweet bread wafting up from the ovens below beckoned her from the silken sheets. The fabric caressed her as she sat upright, leaving a trail of tingling goose bumps down her cream colored skin, a drape of emerald curls sliding down her back. Her feet didn't quite reach the floor, but she stretched her toes down to the woven leather rug at the bedside, soaking in the sensation that emanated from her soles. Everything felt novel and fascinating, like she was experiencing the world anew. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of her journey that gave her these sensations, but whatever it was she wanted to relish it, and she sprang up with excitement to get dressed for the day ahead.

Downstairs in the common room, the innkeeper and his wife were setting the table for the morning meal. His red and yellow argyle sweater blended in with his red overalls, his wife's yellow sundress dancing just above her feet as she shuffled back and forth laying out dishes. They both stopped and turned as Rydia descended the wooden staircase, watching her graceful figure wrapped tightly in green garments approach the table, smiling with an almost childish glee.

"Lady Rydia, how was your slumber? Was the room to your liking?" the innkeeper's wife asked, the creases in the skin around her eyes deepening as she matched Rydia's smile.

"Oh yes, very much so!" Rydia replied with genuine joy. "And this meal looks incredible. You both really should not have gone through so much trouble just for me."

"Please, it is our pleasure," said the innkeeper through his bushy blonde beard. "It is not every day that we are graced with the presence of the Ambassador of the Summoned Land."

This title had been bestowed upon her during the great celebration after the end of the Crystal Wars, after she decided to spend the majority of her time with the creatures of the underworld. She had promised the newly crowned King Cecil that she would maintain relations between the two worlds should the planet ever need their assistance again. Since no surviving summoners existed in the upperworld, the only connection that remained was Rydia.

"I am excited to be here," Rydia said as she took a seat at the table, browsing the selection of pastries and fruits laid out for her. "Will you sit and talk with me? It has been too long since I've enjoyed conversation with other humans."

The innkeeper and his wife both obliged, taking their seats across from Rydia. They all filled their plates, and then proceeded to slowly empty them as they spoke of tales of the underworld and the state of human society since Rydia last set foot on the surface. Rydia felt energized, both from the sweet sugary treats as well as the stimulation of human contact. It filled a void that had been steadily growing for some time, sewing a hole somewhere in her soul that had gone unmended. As much as Rydia enjoyed telling them about the creatures with which she lived in the Summoned Land, she was much more interested to know about current events.

"I'm amazed at how much progress Agart has made in establishing this new kingdom," Rydia commented, having observed the castle construction in the nearby mountains on her hike into the village. "I imagine you have had some crowded rooms at times. You've added many more rooms since I was here with King Cecil back during the war."

"Oh my, yes!" exclaimed the innkeeper's wife. "There were times when these walls were bursting at the seams with folks from every country. Toroia helped a great deal with managing our timber for new buildings and renovations. Such nice ladies, and incredibly strong!"

"Those were some good times," the innkeeper said, looking up with a smile as though he were daydreaming about scantily clad Toroian women walking around the inn. His wife gave him a not-so-gentle elbow in the ribs to bring him back to reality. "Oomph! Sorry, dear."

"Anyway, we also had many shipbuilders come in from Fabul and help establish a fleet to increase our commerce with the other kingdoms," the innkeeper's wife continued. "Now _those_ were some good times. I don't think a single one of those perfectly sculpted, finely tanned men wore a shirt…ever."

Rydia laughed as the innkeeper's wife gave her a wink. The innkeeper chuckled in kind at his wife's jesting, happy to see their guest in such good spirits. The air was jovial, and it might have lasted for hours if it hadn't been for a knock on the door. Rydia assumed it was for her, as word of her presence in the village had likely spread to the new king of Agart. The innkeeper stood up and made his way to the door, lumbering a little more than usual after such a good meal and hearty laughter. Sure enough, when the door opened, a messenger was there with a request for Rydia to see the king. The innkeeper turned to the green-haired summoner, who politely dabbed her napkin on each corner of her mouth before standing.

"Thank you two so much," Rydia said with a curtsey. "You have been wonderful hosts, and have made the start of my journey so much more pleasant."

"We must thank you for the opportunity to host you, Lady Rydia," said the innkeeper with a bow as she made her way towards him, his large posterior keeping the door open for her. Rydia turned in the doorway to curtsey one last time, the innkeeper's wife replying in kind. With that she followed the messenger through the village towards the castle, looming like a magnificent gargoyle in the cliffs of the mountains overhead.

**:::**

"say...soul…"

He could hear a voice, but all he could see were layers and layers of translucent white curtains all around him. This was not the first time this dream had occurred, and it usually meant Rosa was nearby calling him out of bed to begin the day. But something was different about the voice this time.

"seh...sull…"

It was such a warm voice, as though it was wrapping itself around him and giving him life. Though he didn't recognize it, unable to peg the unusual accent, he was sure he had heard it before.

"Cecil…my son…"

Cecil's eyes shot open. He was laying on the cot in his mother's room, the faint scratch of the thatched straw roof rustling in the breeze his first clue that he was no longer dreaming. He turned his head to look across the room, and saw the smiling woman sitting up, pillows being placed behind her back by one of the clerics from the night before. Her face was radiant. Despite the lines of age running through her skin, she seemed utterly graceful, as though she had not been ill at all. Her ash-green locks spilled down her frame and into her lap, like twin waterfalls making their way to the river of her sheets. Cecil was mesmerized.

"Aren't you going to say anything to your mother?" she said with a jest of scolding. Cecil, finally getting his wits about him, stood up and walked over to her bedside before kneeling down to take her hand. "My how you've grown. How I longed to have been there for you all these years."

"I don't know what to say," Cecil admitted, though he had tried so hard to put together all the questions to which he wanted the answers. Now that he had the chance, the words scattered in every direction. He reached for something in the jumble. "How is this possible?"

"Oh my," she said with a strange mixture of sad laughter. She put a delicate hand to her chest to keep from coughing. Cecil looked to the cleric to fetch some water. "That is a fair question, and one that I do hope I can answer to your satisfaction. There is much I wish to tell you."

"Whatever you say will be a blessing," Cecil replied with anxious sincerity. "Before today I never knew you existed, so I am already feeling quite overjoyed to have you here, to be at your side at this very moment."

His tender words sent a rush of warmth into her heart, and she began to cry. Cecil reached his hand to catch her tears, and her face gently fell into his palm. They sat like this for several moments, her hand reaching over to keep his hand against her cheek. When she finally opened her eyes he was smiling, the shine of hope and joy in his expression. She wiped her eyes and took the clay cup of water from the cleric, sipping it graciously before handing it back.

"It brings me peace to hear you say that," she said quietly, as though she was still holding back some surge of tears. She took a deep breath before she continued. "I will explain as much as I can in the short time that I have left here. My lapses are becoming more frequent by the day, and there will come a time when I will not be roused."

"I understand. The Elder explained the situation when I arrived," Cecil assured his mother. "May I ask what it is that plagues you, mother?"

"It is more of a curse than a plague, an inevitability that I can no longer run from," she spoke with somber tones, glancing away for a moment to think back on her life's path. "It was my choice, and I knew this day would come. But perhaps I should start from the beginning."

"As you wish. My ears are yours for as long as you need," Cecil replied. The cleric brought a chair to the bedside so that he wouldn't have to kneel on the ground any longer, recognizing that this would take some time. Cecil graciously took the seat, never letting go of his mother's hand. He dared not let her go as long as her eyes were open and her mind still sharp.

"I was born in Mysidia quite some time ago, and studied magic like most young children here, although our knowledge of the arcane was quite rudimentary at that time. My life was uneventful, mundane even," she said with a certain fondness, as though there was something special about those uneventful days as a child. "But I was also a bit brash, and perhaps too mischievous for the townsfolk's liking. I remember the boys being particularly fond of me."

"Did you know the Elder as a boy?" Cecil inquired with an intrigued smile.

"Oh heavens no, this was long before he was ever born," she replied without hesitation. Cecil's smile turned to a look of confusion.

"Wait…how old are you?"

"That question will hopefully be answered later, now hush and listen," she scolded with a smile.

"Sorry, mother," Cecil returned with a smile in kind.

"One day, when I had grown into a young woman, I packed my things and decided to run away. The humble life of Mysidia didn't call to me. I wanted more," she admitted with soft excitement, as though reliving the memory was as good as the experience itself. "But before I could make it out the door there was a bustle of excitement in the village. A traveler had arrived that had everyone in a fit, and a gathering had been made at the town square. I decided to put off my desertion until I could find out what was going on."

"Was it my father?" Cecil speculated, his eyes steeped with anticipation.

"Yes it was," she replied. Cecil's eyes lit up with excitement at the thought of his father and mother meeting for the first time. "He was a handsome man, much like you have become, and he spoke with such a beautiful voice, an accent that I had never heard before. He was being presented to the villagers by the Magus, what the Mysidians now call an Elder. What the Magus said was something unbelievable, and quite literally otherworldly."

"The fact that he was a Lunarian," Cecil assumed, his attention hanging on her every word.

"Indeed, it came as quite a surprise to all of us, and many of the townsfolk didn't believe him," she said. "It took some convincing, but most villagers respected the beliefs of the Magus that this man was, in fact, from one of the moons that circled our planet. He was treated like royalty, and things became a bit more exciting in Mysidia with him around."

"How did he convince the people that he was a Lunarian?" Cecil asked. "I didn't even fully believe it myself until his brother, my uncle FuSoYa, met us in the Crystal Palace on the moon."

"He wielded a level of magic that far surpassed ours, or anyone on the planet for that matter," she explained, a hum of awe in her voice. "He also commanded a majestic vessel that dwarfed any ship that had sailed the seas since. It not only rode the waves, but could journey beneath them, or even sail the clouds and beyond."

"The Great Whale," Cecil let out, like a secret he couldn't hold any longer. He was as excited hearing the story as his mother seemed to be telling it. Their expressions almost mirrored each other as the story went on.

"He called it MaKoTo, a Lunarian phrase that he later translated for me as Mother Moon Carrier. He took the townsfolk to see it, but none were allowed aboard, or should I say, almost none," she continued with a clever grin. "For days and weeks I simply watched him, stalked him really. I was so fascinated by him that I couldn't help it. I wanted to know more of this mysterious traveler from another world. He taught our people so much, but I was blind to most of that at the time. I wasn't interested in Mysidia anymore, I just wanted to experience something new. When he finally noticed me watching him one day, I was petrified. He just stared at me with these penetrating eyes, but they weren't cold, not angry or annoyed. They were intense with this feeling of finding something he was looking for."

"You think he was looking for you?"

"In a sense, yes," she replied, as though it was something rather difficult to explain. "He introduced himself to me as KluYa, a Lunarian name that he translated for me as Father of Light. He asked if I had been longing for an adventure, as though he could see through my eyes, into my very dreams. I was young, and easily swept off my feet by this handsome stranger. Your father was quite the charmer."

"I never imagined…" Cecil was awestruck, his only impressions of his father coming from the voice on Mt. Ordeals and the little that he was able to gather from FuSoYa. "Please go on."

"When he took me aboard the MaKoTo for the first time, he asked if I would like to travel the planet together from end to end, every corner, exploring and learning of the different people and cultures," she continued. "He explained to me that the Lunarians had been looking for a habitable planet after theirs suffered a great catastrophe. When they happened upon the Blue Planet, they discovered humans were in an early stage of development. Rather than eradicate the species, they decided to let us grow until we were ready to coexist with them. His mission was to monitor our tolerance of an alien race living on this planet, and to determine the date of the Lunarians arrival."

"But the Lunarians left the Blue Planet," Cecil informed his mother, although he was sure she knew this already. "FuSoYa said that we deserved to live without interference, that Zemus's hatred for humans would likely not be the only defiance we would face should our races coexist on this planet."

"Yes, your father anticipated this, which is why he broke the single most important tenet set forth before his mission could proceed," she explained, a breath of a pause before she spoke again. "He explained that the one rule given to him before he was sent on the MaKoTo to the Blue Planet was to not interfere with human development, to let them evolve on their own terms. Your father had other plans."

"My father defied his own people?" Cecil was surprised, but again his knowledge of his father was quite scant. "I'm assuming this did not go over well?"

"He was not a fool, and it is no coincidence that his brother, your uncle, was stationed as the watchman at the Crystal Palace for KluYa's return," Cecil's mother responded, effectively answering his question before she even had to explain any further.

"FuSoYa kept his secret…" Cecil said with reverent satisfaction.

"Yes, we were a close knit family, and a highly influential one at that," she said with a smile, acknowledging that Cecil came from an esteemed Lunarian heritage. "But we're beginning to follow a tangent that we can explore another time."

"You're right, mother, please continue."

"At first I was hesitant to accept the invitation to leave my life behind, and I asked for some time to think," she continued. "How silly that I had craved the adventure so much, and when it was offered to me I shied away. He said that he would give me one night to think it over, for he would be leaving at sunrise the following day. When I asked where he was going, he simply replied that there was only one way to find out. It didn't take all night for me to finally gather the courage to act, and under the glow of the twin moons I left my home to board the MaKoTo. He was overjoyed, and we embraced on the moonlit deck of the ship."

"It sounds like such an intense connection between the two of you," Cecil commented, seeing the twinkle in his mother's eyes as she spoke of his father. He wished, for her sake, that they could still be together. "I'm sorry that he isn't here with us."

"It was never meant to be, my son," she said, sounding much like the voice on Mt. Ordeals. "But that part of the story will have to wait. Now where was I?"

"You had accepted my father's invitation to explore the world together on the Great Wh—the MaKoTo," Cecil caught himself.

"Yes, it was to be the beginning of an incredible journey for both of us, one that we had only previously realized in our dreams," she began with such a rush of excitement that she suddenly touched her hand to her head, closing her eyes tight as though a great pain was coursing through her temples. She let go of Cecil's hand to clutch something underneath the breast of her gown, a pendant that he could not see.

"Mother! Are you all right?" Cecil found himself quickly standing over her, touching her head gently. He waved the cleric over from the doorway.

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine," she said through a breath of exhaustion, as though she had used an immense amount of strength to hold back a mental avalanche. She relaxed as her hands fell back to her sides on the bed. "I thought I was due for another lapse, but I believe I have staved it off for now. I will try to get through as much as I can before it comes again, but it comes without warning."

"I will stay with you every moment," Cecil assured her. He noticed a tear quietly traveling down her cheek, and he swept it away with a graceful stroke of his finger before sitting and taking her hand once more.

"Once aboard the MaKoTo, he said that we had to travel someplace far away from here," she said wearily, still trying to regain her strength. "When asked where this place was, he simply waved his hand at a wall inside what he later revealed to be the control room. The wall lit up with a vision, like a window into the outdoors, and through it I saw stars sprinkled around two glowing spheres. He pointed to one of them with an excited smile."

"The first place he took you was to the moon?"

"He said that everything would become clear once we were there," she replied. "He then showed me this dazzling stone, a crystal like none I had ever seen, sitting in the middle of the room. It whispered to me, and he seemed to speak to it before it flashed. At that moment the ship came to life with a magnificent hum, and the image on the wall shifted. The moon began to get closer, and I had a sudden realization that I was leaving the planet, something no human had ever done. We both had so many questions about our lives, and we talked for hours during this trip, truly getting to know one another. He was such a splendid being, and though he seemed to fancy me a great deal, he was a fine gentleman. I could see in his eyes that he would do great things, and it was then that it became clear to me that I could never go back to my life in Mysidia, for nothing would ever be the same."

"But if he was not supposed to interfere with humans, wouldn't it be dangerous for him to take you to the moon?" Cecil asked.

"We were not there long, and the only Lunarian I interacted with was FuSoYa," she replied. "When we arrived at the Crystal Palace, I shrieked when I first set my foot on the soft sediment and looked up to see the planet I was standing on just the day before high in sky, half in light, half in shadow. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

"Did it make the world feel small to you? More precious?" Cecil asked.

"Precious, yes, but I had never traveled outside of Mysidia," she replied. "So when I saw great swaths of land reaching across vast oceans, it made it seem that much larger. I longed to return and see as much of it as I could, but there was something of great importance awaiting me in the Crystal Palace, something that would ensure that dream would come true."

An unexpected silence followed her last words, and Cecil noticed her fingers loosen from around his hand. Her eyes closed as her head fell back into the pillow, Cecil's hand rushing to set it down gently into the cushion.

"Mother?" Cecil called quietly but urgently to no avail. "Mother!"

**:::**

The great stone walls vaulted into incredible archways, opening to breathtaking vistas of the Agartian mountains as Rydia followed the messenger to the King's throne room. Rydia quickly noticed the lack of any structure that would prevent someone from falling over the edge of these wondrous windows to the world. She wasn't sure if it was simply an oversight, or an intentional design. She hoped for the former, as the intentions of the latter seemed too troubling.

"Right this way, Lady Ambassador," the messenger ushered Rydia through a set of golden gilded doors. Her eyes widened in utter amazement at the beauty of the throne room, with red and yellow silk drapes and banners, all trimmed in shimmering golden thread, hanging like vines from the ceilings. The Agartian crest adorned the banners, a shield divided into quarters with symbols representing honorable aspects of their culture: a hammer and anvil for their expertise in smithing, a grape vine for their fine wine, an olive branch for their peaceful nature, and a mountain peak for their strength. Sitting atop the shield was a basilisk, a reminder that all things eventually return to the stone. The sturdy walls were strong with granite, streaks of quartz veins criss-crossing along the surface. The floor, however, was polished marble, with matching columns reaching up to a high ceiling, a ruby red carpet streaking through the middle, rushing up to a glowing golden throne. The King was standing before it, excited to greet the young woman into his court.

"Lady Rydia, I was so delighted to hear that you had made your stay here in Agart," he said with a hearty, joyous voice. "I only wish that I had known sooner, I would have made a bed here in the castle. The views here are quite stunning."

"I agree," Rydia said with a smile, making her way to stand before the King with a curtsey. "It was quite a nice stay in the Inn, and it brought back many fond memories."

"How quickly I forget that you visited before with King Cecil during your journeys," King Hector said. He then held out his arm as if to offer Rydia to take it. "Please come and talk with me for a spell."

Rydia took the King's arm as they made their way to another room, the King waving the messenger away. He pushed open a small wooden door for her, leading her into a cozy chamber with a table and two plush chairs. On the table was a plate of fruit and cheeses, as well as a selection of wines and juices. The King offered Rydia her seat before taking his own, seeming to be quite excited to speak with her.

"You certainly didn't have to go through all this trouble, Your Majesty," Rydia said, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"It was no trouble at all, Lady Rydia, and please call me Hector," he said with delight. Luckily for Rydia, he seemed to pick up on her slight discomfort. "I apologize if I seem a bit overly enthusiastic, but you are the first noble visitor that we've had to the castle, and I want to make sure that everything is quite right."

"I see," Rydia said, letting out a flush of giggles in relief. "For a moment I thought you were striving to court me."

At that they both had a good laugh, and the tension in the room instantly melted away. Rydia graciously accepted a glass of wine and a plate of cheese. She immediately realized that if she weren't careful, she could be swelling around the belly much like Hector by the end of her journey. Once the food and beverage were served, Hector was eager to get to the exchange of ideas.

"I have had great ambitions in my short tenure as King of Agart, and as we have become a hub between the upper- and underworlds, we are seeing a great deal of culture through our village," Hector began with a proud smile. "But our knowledge of the underworld is scant at best, and we have truly little knowledge of the Land of the Summons. Would you care to enlighten me and my court at a banquet in your honor?"

"I would be most happy to!" Rydia agreed. "But I must tell you that I cannot stay for more than a fortnight. I am on something of a personal journey, and I wish to pursue it soon."

"That can certainly be arranged, milady," Hector was more than happy to oblige. "I will begin the preparations, but first I—"

Hector was interrupted by a knock at the door. He stood up with an apology to Rydia for the intrusion before making his way to open it. Rydia could not see who was on the other side, and could only hear whispers between the King and the person behind the door. Though she could not make out the words, they seemed urgent, and the King responded with strong, short sentences. He peeked his head back to look her only once during the exchange, which lasted only a minute before the door was closed and Hector approached her.

"My sincerest apologies, Lady Rydia, but something urgent demands my attention," Hector said with a hint of annoyance. "Being King does keep one aggravatingly busy."

"It is quite alright, Sir Hector," Rydia replied kindly, standing to make her leave. Hector once again held out his arm for her to lead her out of the chamber.

"Let me show you to your room, and we can at least talk a bit more," Hector offered. Rydia found his graciousness undeniably sweet as she hooked her arm around his elbow. "Sometimes I must find these little opportunities to escape the day-to-day routines of life."

"I know exactly what you mean," Rydia said, following him back through the regal throne room and back to the wide, arched hallways that wrapped around the castle, looking out into the alps. She thought it a good opportunity to bring up the perilous edge of the walkway, considering its great height above the valley below. "Was the design of these halls intended to keep visitors on guard?"

"A design I am not entirely fond of, I must confess," Hector stated. "It was of my brother's conception. He is a skilled tactician, and is leading our council on military strategy. His believes that it gives us an advantage over visiting diplomats through intimidation. In all honesty, most of our people are dreadfully afraid of heights and we don't go anywhere near the edges of these cursed walkways."

"I see," Rydia said with a grin, becoming quite aware that the King was almost hugging the inside wall of the hallway. "Well it certainly provides the most incredible view of the mountains."

"That it does," Hector replied, quite happy to turn in to an inside corridor leading to a set of stairs leading up to another floor of the castle. Torches maintained a pleasant glow through those halls not lit by open arch windows. "But let us speak of your travels. What brings you to the upperworld?"

"In a sense, I needed a breath of fresh air," Rydia began, not sure exactly how to explain her journey of self discovery. "I have spent a great deal of time in the underworld, and a majority of that in the Land of Summons. I don't want to forget where I came from, and every now and then it's good to remind myself that I have a home here, as well."

"I can certainly accept that as a fine reason, but what brought you here?" Hector inquired. "I assume you ascended through the northern crater, but surely you did not climb out of it yourself?"

"No, not quiet," Rydia answered with a giggle, imagining herself trying to scale the great wall leading out of the crater. "I had some help from the King of the Summons, Leviathan. But once in the upperworld, I wanted the chance to set out on my own. I could have had him take me anywhere, but in truth, I wasn't sure where to go. So I had him set me on the mountain path leading to the village. Once I have decided on my next destination, I will set on that path."

"Quite courageous, milady," Hector said with a bit of awe. "I am most impressed with your independence."

"Thank you, Sir Hector," Rydia said with renewed confidence, feeling more and more that this journey was the right thing to do. Before they could go any farther they reached a door at the end of a hallway. Hector gave two raps on the door before it opened from the inside. An impeccably dressed servant was waiting inside to show her the amenities.

"This is where I must leave you, Lady Rydia," Hector said with a smile and a bow. "It has been a pleasure speaking with you, and I do hope that we will have another chance quite soon."

"Most gracious, Your Majesty," Rydia replied with a curtsey.

"Your wardrobe has already been fetched from the Inn, so you should have everything you need," Hector informed her. "Should you find anything missing, please don't hesitate to notify the attendant. He will be your personal assistant for the duration of your stay here, and should you wish to roam the castle he will gladly guide you."

"Agleson Ardwick at your service, Lady Ambassador," the servant announced with a bow. "Please make yourself at home here."

Rydia was overcome with the environment she had just walked into, with beautiful silks adorning the walls between intricately carved oval windows, and a large, gold sleigh-bed topped with a chocobo down mattress as the centerpiece. A handcrafted wooden vanity and wardrobe lined the opposite wall. A table with two chairs was already decorated with platters of food and wine. A small bookshelf sat next to it with several titles that Rydia found she would have to read during her time here.

"Oh, one more thing, Lady Rydia," Hector called to her through the doorway. Rydia realized she had lost herself in soaking up the room's environs. She turned to assure the King that she was listening. "When you meet my brother, Philip, please don't mind his demeanor. He means well, but can come off as cold and brusque. He had mentioned wanting to meet you, so he may drop by unexpectedly. You'll simply have to excuse his manner."

"Thank you for the guidance," Rydia said with a smile and a nod. Hector then turned and made his way back down the hallway. The servant making his way to the door to close it behind him.

"I will be just outside if you need anything, Lady Ambassador," Agleson said with a kind smile and a bow.

"Thank you, Agleson," she replied. "And please, call me Rydia."

 


	5. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil writes a letter to Rosa. Kain writes a letter to Cecil. Rydia receives a letter while preparing for the banquet.

A week had passed since Cecil's only conversation with his mother, and her peaceful slumber gave no hints of her next awakening, if it should happen at all. The Mysidians had done everything to make it known that they were praying for him, providing him food and water, and offering their much more comfortable lodgings in the Inn at no cost. He felt truly grateful for their unbridled hospitality, and the thought of his deeds many years ago as a dark knight of Baron seemed to slip out of his mind and into nothingness, something that he could never have claimed before. The people here were honestly concerned for him, which went a long way towards soothing the scar of his past. It was with this upwelling of generosity, of genuine goodwill, that Cecil had maintained the strength and composure to stay in Mysidia as long as it took to learn what he could from the frail woman at his side.

Cecil was writing a letter to Rosa at a small desk that the clerics had brought in for him, a single candle casting a yellow haze upon the tabletop, warm dust swirling lazily in its halo. Every now and then a flick of the feather pen would send a small eddy through the air, causing the flame to dance erratically before finding its equilibrium again. The setting sun was sending a stream of light through the gap in the canvas doorway, painting a strip of bright orange across the floor and across his mother's chest. He looked over and noticed a small lump there in the thin ray of light, the same place she had clutched her chest when she fought off the lapse. Cecil noticed a thin, silver chain running down either side of her neck, underneath her gown. He only imagined the chain met at that point, likely holding some type of pendant or medallion. He pondered it a moment, but brushed it from his mind without another thought before getting back to his letter.

Cecil had received a letter from Rosa through a black chocobo courier two days prior, but he couldn't find the words to send back until now. He used the stories of the Mysidians' hospitable actions to break his mental tension, reflecting on one particular incident that happened just the day before…

_My dearest Rosa,_

_I was so happy to receive your letter, and I apologize for not writing to you sooner. I am fortunate to have you maintaining the kingdom in my absence, and it would seem that all is well. Tell the engineers that the airship performed well on the journey here, although the alignment will need a bit of precision calibration upon my return. If they wish to reach the level of expertise of Grandmaster Cid then they will need to spend more time in the workshop, and less time in the tavern. I'm glad to hear that Cid is preparing for another trip abroad with his daughter. It's good that he is taking his retirement seriously, and I'm sure his daughter is relishing their time together._

_It has been at once magnificently enlightening and soul rending since my arrival here. The Mysidians have been overwhelmingly gracious with me, and I feel as though I owe them a tremendous debt of gratitude. There has been not one time that I have been alone, feeling as though the world is collapsing beneath me that one of these wonderful people hasn't rushed to my side to lift my spirits. The quilt of support they have woven for me keeps me warm in my coldest moments._

_One day I simply fell to my knees in a garden, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers, one of which you will find in the pressed handkerchief enclosed with this letter. It reminded me that these symbols of innocence, their fate sealed in the coming winter months, were simply alive. They had no motive for it, they simply were. And then a young Mysidian boy, perhaps nine or ten years of age, found me there. He said I appeared as though I had just looked death in the eye. I was amazed at his perception, and I think I may have just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. He didn't say anything else for a while, he just sat next to me in the garden, gazing at the flowers. I wasn't sure what to do, but he softly leaned into my side, and without thinking I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. I felt protective of this son of Mysidia. We sat for quite some time in peaceful silence before he sat up and looked at me, and with the most tender voice, he told me that his mother had died when Baron invaded the village seeking the crystal. His father had passed shortly thereafter from grief, leaving this young child an orphan. I must have looked wracked with guilt, for the boy took my hand, saying only three words before he departed. Despite all my strength, I couldn't help but smile through my tears as the boy hugged me tightly around the neck and ran off back to the village. He said he forgave me._

_My fears of my past continuing to haunt this village may be allayed now, but there is a new fear in me. My mother is not well, her illness sending her into long periods of unconsciousness. I have been able to speak to her only once in my time here, and while it was an incredible moment of clarity and self enlightenment, it was all too short. I fear that I may never speak to her again, that I will simply be waiting for another conversation that will not come. But I must remain vigilant. She has told me so much of her past, and she expressed a need to divulge a matter of some importance to me. This gives me faith that she knows she will awaken again soon, but in the time until that day comes, I simply must wait and hope._

_Please worry not for me, my love, I am well taken care of here. I may be here longer than I had anticipated, but know that it pains me to be away from you. I pray that we may see each other in our dreams. May the flame of our love keep us warm every night._

_Ever Yours,_

_Cecil_

_P.S. I saw_

Cecil struggled with the decision to reveal to Rosa that he had seen Kain in the village. It was such a brief moment of his time here in Mysidia, but it felt much more significant. He replayed the eyes of his former friend gazing at him from atop the parapet that moonlit night, and he couldn't figure out what he saw in them. Was it fear? Guilt? Or was it hatred? His feelings were too tumultuous at that time to discern anything from the situation, and so he felt it better to leave it be, for now.

_P.S. I saw Palom and Porom, and they wanted to say that they miss you dearly. Porom wants desperately to train with you, and Palom wants desperately to be set up with one of your students. I told them to anticipate an "Absolutely" and an "Absolutely not!", respectively. I trust I know you well enough to have provided them accurate responses._

Cecil chuckled a bit to himself, thinking of the young mages. They maintained a place in his heart that few were privileged to hold. Cecil continued to smile as he folded the letter with gentle precision before sliding it smoothly into an envelope. He lifted the candle on the corner of the desk over the envelope, tipping it slightly so that the melted red wax dripped into a perfectly round puddle on the point of the flap. After he was satisfied with the amount of wax, he laid the candle back down and pulled a stamp from the satchel hanging on the chair. He pressed the stamp firmly in the center of the wax, a ring of red extruded around the edges of the cold metal. The wax dried quickly, and as he peeled the stamp from the seal it left behind an imprint of a rose and thistle.

He glanced over to his mother, the ray of sunlight now fading to match the ambient glow of the candles within the room. Her face was still so peaceful, and Cecil could only hope that her unconscious thoughts were pleasant, perhaps of the days of her youth. Cecil was craving more about his past, after the mental morsel he received from her days ago. He now knew that she had been instrumental in his father's plans to save the humans from the likes of Zemus, and that they shared a bond that defied the inevitable grip of time. Her age was still a mystery, but it seemed unfathomable that she was around during the early settlement days of the village of Mysidia. As Cecil had learned from the Elder many years ago, the village of Mysidia had over 1,000 years of history since its establishment, much of it steeped in their development of magic.

Cecil stood to walk over to his mother's side, resting his palm on her forehead. She felt warm, although not alarmingly so. Just enough to reassure him that she was still with him. The sound of footsteps approaching the hut told Cecil that the clerics were coming to feed her and change her linens. They had been keeping her as well fed as possible with various broths and potions, the reflexive peristalsis of her throat allowing it despite her unconsciousness. But Cecil never cared to watch, to see his mother in such a vulnerable position was too much to bear. When the clerics entered the room, he turned and nodded, a new rhythm of his daily routine. He stepped past the two mages as they made their way to his mother, a bowl of lukewarm soup and several vials of liquid between them. He turned back as he parted the doorway, a sigh of sadness for his inability to help her escaping his lips. He reminded himself that he needed to get his letter to the couriers before they left with the evening sun, and he was running late for a meeting with the Elder. Cecil turned into the sunset beyond the door, an orange glow bouncing off the gold inlays of his ivory armor, and left those worries behind for the time being.

**:::**

The wind was howling between the twin peaks of the mountain, the rope bridge connecting them swinging to and fro from its tethers. The setting sun painted the rocks the color of fire, a flame reaching so high that it singed the sky. Darkness was beginning to roll in from the east, creating a living mural out of nature's ceiling as it passed from orange to red to violet and finally a deep, endless blue with the twinkle of the brightest stars peeking through. It was a vision that any traveler would stop for minutes, hours even, just to engorge on the visual feast. It was the type of scenery that minstrels wrote poems and songs about, that Kings asked artists to recreate for them in some vain attempt to capture such beauty.

This was all lost on the one person who dared call this place their home. Hundreds of feet below the peaks, in a deep cut in the mountain there was a small structure. A canvas tent, propped up by numerous hewn logs wedged into the crevices, sat protected from the blustering winds, the glow of a small flame emanating from within. The man inside had no interest in scenery this evening, although he often relished moments of peace on the mountaintop, moments where he could push his thoughts into a deep recess and just breathe. Those moments were somewhat hard to come by over the last few days, for his anxiety was beginning to win a war he was not yet prepared to fight.

Inside the tent, he sat at a crudely constructed wooden desk with an oil lamp perched on its corner. His cot rested a few feet away, a trunk sitting at its foot with a helmet casting a menacing shadow upon the canvas behind it. Its polished blue steel shone like an ethereal ocean, reaching out across the cavity of the lodging, tingeing his disheveled blond hair with a strange hue of sadness. His piercing blue eyes were focused on the papyrus laying on the desk before him, hesitant strokes of a pen decorating its surface with words that he never thought he would ever write. On the floor, around his bare, calloused feet were several crumpled drafts, left for kindling so that no one would ever see his strife.

The flame in the lamp was beginning to wane, craving the oil of which Kain had plenty. He was tempted to refill it, but he had finished his letter, and thought it best to let the lantern extinguish with the sunset. In the few minutes of light he had left, he reread the letter.

_Cecil,_

_These words do not come easily to me. I feel as if I am a tempest that will never dissipate to a clear blue sky. Our past has left scars upon me that I fear will never fully heal. Where I stand with you has been a common subject during my meditations here on Mt. Ordeals, but I have found no clarity to this day. Seeing you in Mysidia has only reminded me of this, and I cannot enter your life, or the lives of others until I can trust myself with the responsibility of altruism and virtue. Unfortunately, in doing so I know that I may cause you and Rosa much grief, a consequence that I deeply regret._

_I only ask that you do not seek me here, for I will not be so inclined to go with you. I must find what I am looking for before I leave this place. You discovered your true purpose on this mountain, your reason for being, as did the Sage Tellah. I can only believe that my purpose is here, as well. Your presence here would provide no guidance, and I do not wish to endanger you. Please leave me be, for I do not deserve your aid. If you decide to neglect my wishes, trust that your attempts to return me to society will be met with hostility._

_I have faith that I will find some peace here, and when I do, I promise to return. Until that day, I hope you and Rosa stay well. I do enjoy hearing news from the kingdom when I travel to Mysidia, and if you wish to send news directly to me there, I will oblige._

_Regards,_

_Kain Highwind_

The flame held within the lantern was so small that there was no light left to read by, the setting sun now leaving but a dim haze around him. Through the wind Kain could hear the groans of the undead, a common occurrence during the twilight hours, and he left a smooth stone atop the parchment to hold it in place. He stood and walked to the trunk at the foot of his bed, opening it reveal his armor. In swift, graceful movements he slipped the pieces of blue steel onto every part of his body, as if it was just another mission, just another battle, just something tangible that he could grasp between his fingers. He picked up his helmet last, lifting it with two hands above his head before lowering it squarely upon his crown. The dragon was now complete, his graceful wings protruding from his back ready to lift him into the unknown hordes that awaited him. He grabbed a brilliant, cerulean crystal spear that rested in the corner, its tip glistening like a serpent's fang salivating for blood. He walked boldly through the opening of his tent, into the twilight night, the flame of his lantern disappearing with the cool breeze.

**:::**

It was the night of the banquet, and Rydia was rushing to find just the right clothes for her presentation to the King's Court. The last week had gone by in a blur, a warm and happy blur. She had made her acquaintance with many of the staff and nobles that passed through or presided in the castle, thanks in large part to Agleson's exceptional guidance. They had become instant friends as Rydia soon learned that he was a bard from Damcyan, much like her friend King Edward. She regaled him with tales of her adventures as a child at the then Prince's side: retrieving the Sand Ruby from the Antlion's Lair; fighting off the forces of Baron together in Fabul; his sea sickness on the high seas just before their sudden parting at the hands of Leviathan. _I'm pretty sure I called him a sissy more than once_ , she told Agleson, speaking to Edward's propensity for wailing uncontrollably. He had a good laugh at that, imagining anyone speaking to his King in that manner, much less a child. Agleson's lively demeanor mirrored her own as they shared their stories through endless nights.

She could tell right away that Agleson was not from Agart, as he was much taller than any native Agartian. He also had very well-groomed, mahogany brown hair, paired with warm, inviting hazel eyes. Whereas most Agartians were wide around the waist, Agleson maintained a thin, lanky frame typical of wandering bards, often walking for miles between cities with little or no food. Agleson was also quite stylish, as most men from Damcyan are, and knew how to properly fit clothes to his shape. He always had the most impressive regalia, no matter the occasion, and Rydia guessed that his wardrobe must have taken up most of the space in his room. _The benefits of being in the King's service_ , he told her when she asked about a particular outfit he had worn that came with several flourishes of gold chocobo feathers, a rarity in any country.

This was quite the blessing for Rydia, as she was struggling to find the perfect attire for the evening. Agleson's presence was more than necessary at this point, as she had apparently chosen quite poorly the first time she exited her room, according to him.

"Oh dear, Rye Rye," Agleson quipped as she opened the door, his hand over his mouth feigning horror. "What have you done?"

"Oh, shush you!" she snorted with a playful smile, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him into the room. "If you think you can conjure a better outfit, Agleson, then please work your magic."

"But of course, milady," he replied happily. He then clapped his hands, and as if he could summon just as well as the woman of Mist, four more servants marched into her room with freshly tailored garments in all of her favorite colors. She was delighted to see an elegant, strapless, floor-length ball gown made of the finest silks, shimmering in emerald green. The trim was an ornate embroidered pattern in gold that beautifully complemented the shade of green. A streak of deep crimson velvet ran down either side of the dress, which went nicely with the red-lace shawl and the ruby slippers. A pair of green velvet, elbow-length gloves finished the outfit. Her eyes were glistening with joy as she ran up to Agleson and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head into his shoulder.

"Thank you, Agleson. It's so beautiful!"

"Not without you wearing it, Rye Rye," Agleson whispered into her ear. She released her grip, her smile beaming as she turned to the tailors to begin donning her new dress. He respectfully stepped outside and closed the door as the servants assisted Rydia with her clothes. She couldn't help thinking what a wonderful person he was, so kind and always thinking about her when she wasn't thinking ahead. He was a handsome man, and their chemistry was an instantaneous reaction from the start, but Rydia hadn't expected to have such feelings so soon. Their friendship was new and exciting, but she worried that her time in the underworld had made her too susceptible to human charm. But he had not made any suggestive advances towards her, which made her that much more interested.

"I believe you are ready, Lady Ambassador," one of the servants said, drawing Rydia away from her daydream. "And may I say you look absolutely radiant!"

"Thank you, it fits like a dream," Rydia said with a twirl and a curtsey. The long curls of her hair draped down one side of her neck, spilling down her porcelain shoulders and blending perfectly with the dress, as though that shade of green had somehow been captured and made into twine. The servants left the room, and Agleson made his way back in. When his eyes fell on Rydia they were alight with joy.

"Now you are ready to be seen in public, milady," he said with a bow.

"Thank you, Agleson, I feel like a queen!" she said, almost giggling with joy.

"But there is something missing," Agleson said with a quirked eyebrow. His left hand, which had been hiding behind his back, then held out a ruby brooch, bordered in a simple gold band, with two gold chocobo feathers reaching out gracefully from behind. "I remembered how much you enjoyed my outfit the other day, so I had this made just for you."

"You are too kind," Rydia said, almost breathless from the beauty of the gift. "It's perfect."

Agleson then took the liberty of clasping the brooch to the top of her dress, just under the gold trim. She suddenly became very aware of the warmth of his hands touching her exposed skin, and it made her stop breathing altogether. It triggered an emotion she hadn't felt in a long time, not since she last saw the brash young prince of Eblan. His touch was so tender, and he was ever so careful not to pinch or hook her skin in the clasp. When his hand finally left her body, and the brooch was fastened, they stood there for a silent moment that Rydia felt as a frozen instant in time. An upwelling of feelings then overtook her as she leaned in and kissed the handsome young man from Damcyan. A rush of warmth erupted from her lips, surging down her skin until she could feel it in her toes. It was a brief moment of passion, but when they parted, they simply gazed at each other with looks of wonder. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity, until Agleson broke the silence.

"So are we still friends, Rye Rye?" Agleson said coyly. Rydia became flush with embarrassment, suddenly becoming very self aware of what she had just done.

"I'm sorry, Agleson, I don't know what came over me," she said, backing a few steps away with her head low.

"It's alright, I felt it, too," Agleson reassured her. "Perhaps we should just take it slow. There is no need to hurry, right?"

"Right," Rydia replied, trying hard to repress the nagging thought in the back of her mind telling her she had planned on leaving the next morning. She began mentally kicking herself for being so forward and unable to contain her desires. At the same time, she wanted more. She had wanted this, to explore the world and find herself. Perhaps this was what she missed most of all.

"Shall we get to the banquet?" Agleson suggested, offering an arm to lead her to the great hall. "If we tarry much more, we may no longer even be _fashionably_ late."

"Yes, of course," Rydia said, letting a smile return to her face. She held herself up with regal grace as she slipped her supple hand into the crux of his arm. She began to feel better, as though things could possibly return to normal as they walked towards the door. As they left the room, however, a messenger was walking quite hastily towards them.

"Lady Ambassador," the messenger called, looking only briefly at Agleson with a greeting nod before holding out a letter to Rydia. "This message was marked urgent for you."

"From whom?" she asked as she took the folded parchment, looking at him quizzically.

"I was not given a name, and I couldn't see through the shadow of the cloak, Your Grace," he said with an apologetic bow.

"Thank you, you are free to go," she told him as she eagerly unfolded the letter. Though she had been here a week, she couldn't imagine that any of her friends in the upperworld would already have such information. Her mind worked to predict the sender until she had the letter completely open, only to find that it was not signed.

"Who is it from?" Agleson asked, quite interested in such a strange event, as well.

"I don't know, there is no signature," she replied quietly as the wonder of the mystery had stolen most of her attention away. She began to read it, not even noticing that Agleson had moved his head next to hers to read it with her.

_Lady Rydia,_

_You are in mortal danger. It is of great importance that you do not speak to Philip of Tomera at the banquet this evening. He is plotting your assassination, and he plans to carry it out during your presentation to the King's Court._

_It is in your best interest to leave Agart as soon as possible._

_Your life depends on it._

 


	6. Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not as they seem during the banquet at Agart. Cecil learns some startling news from the Elder of Mysidia.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I will protect you, no matter what happens."

The two stood before the impressive, carved-oak double doors leading to the Great Hall, the sounds of banter seeping through the glowing gap that parted the two halves. Rydia was trembling with anxiety, both for her presentation to the King's court as well as the thought of someone on the other side of the door plotting her murder. Agleson's gentle hand slipped into hers, giving a slight squeeze to comfort her before pulling the smooth, brass handle of the door. The muffled voices rose in a quick crescendo, the warmth of the room rushing out to greet them.

"Will you be with me when I speak before the court?" Rydia asked her companion, overwhelmed at the sight of so many people who were now beginning to turn their attention on her entrance.

"I will be right at your side," Agleson assured her, keeping her hand firmly in his own.

They began to walk in step as the clamor of the party died down to near silence, the herald stepping up to announce their arrival. He gave her a graceful bow before proceeding, to which she and Agleson reciprocated in kind. They then turned once more to the audience, and Rydia was able to take in the full atmosphere of the Great Hall. A polished burlwood longtable sat in the middle of a recessed floor made of green marble streaked with tan and burgundy veins. It descended three wide, white marble steps below the rest of the room on all sides, allowing guests ample room along each tier to enjoy hors d'oeuvres and a glass of fine wine while marveling at the embellished table settings below. Considering the citizens of Agart were considerably shorter due to their dwarven ancestry, this also helped create a…level playing field. Intricate white marble sculptures, vases, and candle columns graced the deep brown wood of the table, creating a stunning contrast that accentuated their beauty. Their work in stone crafting had proven to be of the highest caliber, as the sconces on the walls were meticulously shaped out of quartz, cut thinner than any craftsmen would dare for fear of shattering the delicate features. The rewards of such exquisite work allowed the light shining through the stone to be amplified significantly to illuminate the large room, but soft enough that it could be observed without harming one's eyes. The chandelier was painstakingly pieced together from thousands of diamonds mined from the very mountains upon which the castle stood, the light of the candles within casting brilliant sparks of color that changed with every angle. Alternating red and yellow banners were draped along every wall, plunging from the high ceiling down the floor, except on the wall directly across from the entrance, where an oil portrait of King Hector and his wife hung within a golden frame.

"Your Majesty. Good gentleman and fine ladies of the King's court. I present to you the Ambassador of the Summoned Lands, one of the five saviors of our world, and the honored guest of the banquet this evening: Her Grace, Lady Rydia of Mist!"

The herald bowed once more, his hand outstretched as though he were offering her to the crowd as he stepped back towards the door. A warm applause erupted soon after. Rydia's eyes twinkled in the light, her previous fears subsiding as she scanned the crowd with a smile. She recognized many faces of nobility that she had met over the past week, and their kind personas reassured her that she was in good company, especially that of Hector and his wife who had been so generous. There was only one face that gave her little comfort, standing with an impenetrable look of indifference next to the King.

"I will keep an eye on him, milady," Agleson whispered in her ear, feigning a smile to keep the intentions of his words a secret from anyone watching them too closely. "Let's enjoy the party."

They walked together along the smooth marble floor, their pace in sync, her gown trailing like a tropical waterfall, the golden chocobo feathers bending gracefully with each step. They greeted each member of the court as they made their way around the longtable, and they could foresee their path inevitably leading them to King Hector and his brother, Philip. While Rydia played the game of appeasing the nobility, Agleson took the opportunity to scan the room discreetly for suspicious activity, always making sure he knew where Philip happened to be. It was like walking through a herd of sheep knowing that a wolf was among them, as everyone was eagerly awaiting the chance to speak to the Summoner of Mist, everyone except the person Rydia was most worried about.

She hadn't even met the man, despite Hector's warning that he might show up at her door unannounced. She had caught cursory glances of him in hallways while walking the castle grounds, but he always seemed to be hurrying from one place to the next, too busy to offer even a word. Agleson did his best to describe Philip, although even he had not spoken to him as much as he interacted with Hector. _He is a man of few words…very few words_ , he had told Rydia one night when they stayed up late telling stories to the stars. _He is not what you would call a "people person"._ Before she had received the letter this very night, they both found him to be simply quirky, a humorous sidenote to an otherwise vivacious kingdom. Now they were beginning to fear that something far worse was hiding behind his disposition.

"Lady Rydia, I am most interested to hear about your stories of the underworld and the Summoned Lands," spoke one of the nobles with an eager smile, taking her hand as he bowed before her to lay a kiss on the tender velvet. "The tales of your beauty have also fallen unpardonably shy of what I see before me tonight, I must say."

"Been heavy into the wine so early in the evening, Lord Almac?" Agleson commented wryly. Rydia was amused at her date's sudden defensiveness.

"Best mind your place, Ardwick," the noble replied with his brow furrowed slightly. "I simply wish to compliment our esteemed guest."

"Thank you, Lord Almac," Rydia stepped in to ease the battle of testosterone. "I sincerely appreciate the flattery, but I am taken for the evening. Shall we, Agleson?"

Almac reluctantly stepped aside with a wave of his hand to allow them passage through the herd. Agleson couldn't help but smile at Rydia, her graceful manner with the nobleman undeniably satisfying. His smile was short-lived, however, as they had nearly made their way Philip, who had apparently grown impatient with the crowd and was making his way towards them. Rydia was unaware of this as she had been distracted by a noble couple that she had enjoyed a fine dinner with a few days prior. Agleson took Rydia's hand softly from his elbow, giving it a light squeeze before he left her side. She glanced over to see the dour man walking towards her, a drop of panic causing her heart to skip a beat. To her relief, Agleson had simply left her to intercept Philip before he had the chance to speak with her.

"Good evening, Sir Philip," Agleson began as he stood tall before the King' brother. He couldn't help but notice that even though Philip had stopped, his eyes never left Rydia, his face completely devoid of any discernable emotion. "You have undoubtedly been busy this week preparing for the banquet. Lady Rydia was hoping to have spoken with you before tonight."

"Pressing matters in the kingdom, Ardwick," Philip replied flatly, finally turning his eyes on Agleson, a piercing stare that made him a bit unsettled. "I will assuredly have my opportunity to acquire the information I need from the Ambassador this evening."

"I have spent much time with Lady Rydia, and have learned much of her life and travels," Agleson said, hoping that he could keep Philip's interest long enough to allow Rydia to escape any conversation with the man. "I would be happy to provide you with details that she will likely not have the chance to cover in her presentation."

"I have no interest in hearing such things secondhand," Philip responded coldly, his gaze—though visibly unchanged—seemed to dig a bit deeper into Agleson's discomfort. "If you truly care, then may I ask why you are stonewalling my attempt to speak with the Ambassador?"

Agleson felt like he had just been trapped, his planned lines of conversation vanishing into a cloud of desperation. He did well to hide his concern, but his lack of response had apparently intrigued Philip, as his face changed ever so slightly with a quirk of an eyebrow. To Agleson's great fortune, King Hector was preparing to make an announcement, the hush of the crowd quickly becoming the loudest sound in the Great Hall. Philip stared at him for a moment longer before glancing over Agleson's shoulder to notice that Rydia had disappeared in the mix of nobility. With an almost imperceptible sigh of frustration, he turned his attention to his brother. Agleson released a tense breath that he hadn't even realized he had been holding in for what felt like his entire conversation.

"I would like to personally welcome all of our esteemed guests, and it is a great honor to have our presence graced by the Lady Ambassador," Hector projected with a strong voice over the Great Hall, his open arms outstretched as though he wished to embrace the gathering before him. "Before our feast, I wish to introduce our honored guest to what I hope will become a longstanding tradition in our land. While music and dance is not among our greatest achievements, we have been blessed to have a native of Damcyan in our court. He has personally composed a waltz for our banquet this evening, and has invited a group of notable minstrels from his land to allow us the privilege of its first dance. Now if you will all take your places on the two lower tiers, we will begin the aptly named _Rydia's Waltz_."

The crowd began chirping with excitement as a troupe of five musicians entered the Great Hall, taking their places at one corner of the upper tier. Rydia was equally surprised, as Agleson had not informed her of this. She felt his hand sliding gently into hers as he found his way back to her side. She looked up and beamed at him with genuine affection, his face a mirror of emotion. The people in the Great Hall took their places, making two squares around the longtable. Agleson lifted Rydia's hand as he moved to face her, saving a breath of space between them as his other hand cupped the curve of her hip. As the musicians warmed up, they had a moment to simply have each other in a tender embrace, eyes speaking more than words dared to say. Rydia felt the urge to press her lips to his once again, but with great strength of will she resisted making a spectacle before the other guests. Their attention was, unfortunately, torn away by another announcement by King Hector.

"For our guests not accustomed to Agartian etiquette, we exchange partners after every stanza of a waltz," the King spoke as he took his place next to his wife. Rydia and Agleson tried to hide their disappointment that they would not share this dance together, entirely. "Gentlemen on the lower tier shall exchange partners to the left," the King continued his instruction to the crowd. Rydia then became very aware that Philip was only a third of the way around the table to her left, standing on the middle tier with them. "Gentlemen on the middle tier shall exchange to the right."

Agleson was soon aware of the issue that drew a worried look upon Rydia's face. Not only was she not going to enjoy the dance with the one person she wanted, she would inevitably be dancing with the one person she most certainly did not.

"Don't worry, Rye Rye," Agleson whispered to Rydia, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "If I'm counting my stanzas correctly, you will not reach Philip before the song is over. I cannot, unfortunately, say the same about Lord Almac."

She then noticed the amorous nobleman smiling and winking from across the room a few couples down from Philip. Rydia rolled her eyes with a sigh of exasperation before returning her attention to Agleson. The musicians had finished tuning their instruments, and the tapping of a boot to the marble floor introduced two bars of tempo in a three-four time signature before the first sweet, harmonious note was played across the chamber. Each of the gentlemen took a bow before their ladies, the women following in suit with a curtsey, a synchronized ballet of nobility as they followed the music.

Rydia had not danced in quite some time, and was a bit anxious that she may embarrass herself before the court, but Agleson was more than capable as a lead, and his guidance through the steps wisked her worries away instantly. They began their graceful movements through the first stanza, never taking their eyes from one another. She felt the rest of the Great Hall fade into a blur, her only focus the man before her, the beautiful sounds of Agleson's heart, played through some of the finest instruments of Damcyan, enveloping them in an intoxicating aural atmosphere. If they could have had one wish granted, it would be to continue this moment until the morning sunrise.

But alas, the first stanza came to a close, and each gentleman took a bow before taking their new partners. Agleson left the touch of his lips on Rydia's hand before reluctantly giving it up to the next gentleman. Though she wanted nothing more than to stay in Agleson's arms, she still managed to enjoy the company of many of the noblemen she was partnered with. She took every chance she could to steal glances at Agleson, who always seemed to be catching her eyes at the same time, joyful smiles shared between them. When it came time for Rydia to take Lord Almac's hand, she feigned a pleasant smile and curtsey, as he eagerly took her hand to begin the dance. She immediately noticed that he had, in fact, dipped a bit too much into the wine beforehand, as his steps were less than graceful, and Rydia found that she had to lead more than he.

"You are a wonderful dancer, Lady Rydia," Almac said with a slight slur between his words. "Perhaps we can continue our conversation that was so rudely interrupted after dinner?"

"You're too kind, Lord Almac," Rydia said as Almac tried to twirl her, which nearly ended in both of them flat on the floor. "But I'm afraid I will be rather indisposed after dinner this evening. All of this dancing will surely leave me exhausted, and I intend to leave at first light tomorrow morning."

"Pity, milady, as I had fully intended to make this a night you would never forget," he said with a half-drunken wink. Rydia stopped mid-stride and slapped the man across the face. He responded with only a moment of shock before returning to a delighted grin. "Feisty! I like that."

To Rydia's tremendous relief, the stanza had come to an end and with a brief curtsey she turned to her next partner with great urgency. It startled her to realize that after this next stanza, she would be partnered with Philip, who was staring over the shoulder of the woman before him to meet Rydia's gaze. Her breath caught in her throat until she felt the hand of the gentleman taking her into the next stanza of the waltz. Rydia could only hope that Agleson had counted correctly, and she glanced across the room to catch his eyes. When she found him, he looked more worried than she liked.

The song played on, and Rydia moved in sync with her partner, though she never even looked at him. Her eyes were constantly darting from Philip to Agleson, trying to find some hope that she would escape the situation. The worried looks from Agleson combined with the cold stare of Philip caused her stomach to tighten, and she fought the urge to faint. She knew the stanza was drawing to a close, and she could only hope that the tempo would start to slow, her feet feeling heavier by the step as the dread of being hand-in-hand with the man that wanted her dead threatened to reach the point of nausea. The tension in the air was invisible to all but three in the Great Hall, and with a resounding high-note echoing through the chamber, Rydia began to notice darkness overtake her peripheral vision, her pulse drumming in her ears.

If she had been able to maintain her composure, she would have noticed the music coming to an end, and the subsequent applause from all the guests. Her current partner looked worried about her sudden pallor, taking her arm to keep her steady.

"Are you alright, Lady Ambassador?" the nobleman asked.

"I…" she mumbled, the world around her slowly coming back into focus. She started breathing normally again, her cheeks now becoming flushed with embarrassment. She smiled at the nobleman to reassure him. "I'm fine, thank you. I believe I'm not used to so much dancing. We don't have such rituals in the Summoned Lands."

She glanced over her partners shoulder to find Philip, but found he was no longer there. She looked across the room to see Agleson making his way towards her with a smile of relief. Rydia met him halfway, and they lost themselves in a quick, tender embrace.

"Thank you, Agleson," Rydia released the tension in a deep breath. "Your song was beautiful."

"And apparently it was just the right length," he replied with a flustered laugh.

"If everyone would like to find their seats, the feast will begin!" King Hector announced as the applause receded into fading echoes, replaced by the shuffling of feet towards the longtable. Rydia and Agleson were asked to sit near the head of the table with King Hector and his wife, which set them directly across from Philip, who had already made his way to his seat to indulge on his glass of wine. Once the gentlemen had seated their dates and taken their own, Hector raised his glass, to which everyone lifted theirs in kind. "May this evening be blessed with good food, good wine, and the warmth of our hearts in every word we share. As our ancestors in the underworld would say, Lali-Ho!"

"Lali-Ho!" everyone replied, the clink of glasses following close behind.

Despite their proximity to Philip, Rydia and Agleson had a wonderful time speaking with Hector and his wife through the first few courses. Hector had made the arrangements with Rydia beforehand to have her speak to the court before the main course, so as to ensure that most of the guests would not be overly plied with wine, but she felt her anxiety about it fading with the conversation.

"Rydia, you must tell my wife the story you told me the other day about the chocobo that jumps on your bed," Hector said excitedly, already chuckling just bringing it up.

"Oh yes, well his name is Chobi, and he was something of a childhood friend," she began with a reflective smile. "He was the first spirit I was able to call from the Summoned Lands, so I grew up with him through my formative years. When I lived in the Summoned Lands, they tried to make accommodations for me that mimicked the upperworld, and so a bed was something that none of them had ever experienced before. Chobi, in his overabundance of excitement, discovered the joy of jumping on the bed, and in a shower of feathers he would flap as if he were flying."

"Oh, that is quite amusing," Hector's wife commented with a giggle.

"He was like a child that had discovered a new toy," Rydia continued. "But one day he slipped on the edge of the bed and injured one of his legs. I ran to find the Sylph, one of the underworld faeries that are known for their healing powers, and when we came back to my room he was back on the bed, jumping on one foot as if he had never fallen off the bed in the first place."

The laughter was contagious, spreading to everyone that was in earshot of the story. Everyone except for Philip, of course, who stared blankly between Rydia and Agleson, as if he were trying to peer through the wall behind them. Agleson took notice, and discreetly glanced over his shoulder to see what had captured Philip's attention. He saw nothing but the red banner swaying gently against the stone.

"Lady Rydia, I am most interested to know how exactly you call forth these monsters," Philip suddenly broke through the lively air. His face never wavered, but Hector seemed immediately concerned for keeping the mood light.

"Please, brother, the Ambassador will likely inform all of us of such matters when she presents to the court," Hector scolded his brother, who returned an unconcerned glance. Hector then looked to Rydia to pose his own question. "Is it improper to refer to them as monsters? These creatures you live with have a culture and society that rivals our very own, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Rydia responded respectfully. "To call them monsters would imply they have no control over their actions. Though a Summoner can call them into this world at their will, the summoned spirit ultimately has the choice to obey or defy. While most spirits strive to better the state of the planet, there are some that can be called purely for the sake of destruction. But even these spirits are not monsters, but simply have a different moral code from the rest of our society. Just as humans have criminals and a justice system to maintain order over them, we have spirits that lose their way and at times must be dealt with."

"That is fascinating," a nobleman sitting nearby chimed in. "Will you be expounding on this during your presentation this evening?"

"Yes, and in fact, I believe it is time, Your Majesty," Rydia said, turning to King Hector expectantly. "Shall I begin?"

"I will make the introduction, of course, Lady Rydia," Hector said, urging her not to rush. The rotund king pushed hardily against the table, moving his chair back enough to stand before his court. With a hearty clap of his hands, the room soon became quiet as the audience had been eager for this moment. "Those of you here tonight are my most trusted advisors, the keepers of this kingdom. This banquet is a special one, indeed, for the Lady Ambassador will be providing us with a wealth of information on the underworld and the Summoned Lands. I do hope that all of you will be giving her your undivided attention, for if our young kingdom is to accept the role of the stewards of the Northern Crater Pass, then we must be well-equipped to inform those traveling between worlds. So without further delay, I wish to invite our honored guest to stand and address the court."

Hector turned and nodded at Rydia as he began to clap, setting off a rising thunder of applause. She stood with a nervous smile, the butterflies fluttering about her stomach. She looked down at Agleson as he gave her a wink, an encouraging look of excitement on his face. From where she stood at the corner of the head of the table, she could look down on two rows of faces, all full of expectation. Agleson glanced over at Philip as she started her prepared speech, noticing that he was once again looking at that same spot on the wall as before, this time almost leering, his eyebrow strangely quirked. Agleson looked behind him at the banner, still gently swaying as if in a gentle breeze, thinking nothing of it until he realized that none of the other banners were moving.

"…it is a land of many wonders, both in its beauty and its simplicity…" Rydia was beginning to get a rhythm going, the nerves flushed from her body as she felt the confidence of her knowledge coming out. She was completely unaware of what Agleson had just discovered, a dark shadow creeping out of the wavering banner, the glint of a crossbow bolt caught in the candlelight, the click of a releasing mechanism followed by the sound of splitting air that ended with contact against soft flesh. She never had time to react, only hearing the scraping sound of a chair beside her pushed across the marble floor, and a body falling at her heels. Everything from that moment on was pure pandemonium, as the entire room erupted from their seats in a rush to either protect the king or to save themselves in a stampede for the doors. Rydia turned to find Agleson on his back, his eyes shut tight, teeth grit against a terrible pain as he held the bolt lodged firmly in his shoulder, a widening stain of blood soaking his garments. She quickly looked back at the seat where Philip was sitting, but he was nowhere to be found.

**:::**

Cecil took in every step with a sense of reverence. The spiral staircase leading up the Tower of Prayers was a hallowed structure, where many of history's greatest sages had etched their presence in enchanted carvings and pictograms over centuries upon the sandstones. Though he did not recognize the markings, he could feel their energy guiding him up to the peak, where the Elder awaited. Upon reaching the top of the tower, the circular room opened to a dark dome of stars. A circle of candles surrounded the great wizard lying prostrate before an unseen deity.

This place had been the site of many sacred wonders. Cecil vividly remembered the oceans below them churning in a magnificent vortex, the bow of a legendary ship birthed before their very eyes. The Elder had such tremendous faith to have been so forgiving, so confident that Cecil was the light that would save the planet. How this man had seen such things in him, he would never know, but his respect and admiration for the Elder were absolute. Because of this he did not approach the man, knowing full well that his presence was sensed, and when he was ready, the Elder would make the first gesture. Cecil watched as the man sat up, still on his knees, his hands reaching into the heavens for answers to questions that likely had implications inconceivable to a blissfully ignorant planet. His hands then slowly lowered back to the ground, his head bowed once more before he stood up and faced his guest.

"I am glad that you have come, Cecil," the Elder spoke as he waved his hand, the circle of candles extinguished in unison. "Let us find more suitable furnishings for our meeting. We have much to discuss."

"I do apologize if I am interrupting. The clerics assured me that I could meet you here."

"It is no trouble," the Elder replied kindly, guiding the Paladin back towards the stairwell with a warm hand on his shoulder. "I want you to forget your feelings of intrusion while you are here, for as you well know now, you are an important part of this village's heritage. You will always have a home here, and counsel from me at any time."

"It is nice to hear you say that, Elder," Cecil responded with a smile. The glow of the torches seemed to brighten as the Elder neared them, casting long shadows of the two men on their way down. "I suppose I do have roots here in Mysidia. Strange to think that my mother may have even seen me walk through this village in years past. I only wish I had known."

"Do not worry yourself with that, but trust that your mother had good intentions for keeping her secret until now."

"I do, it's just…" Cecil trailed off, thinking of how much he could have learned over the years at his mother's side.

"The world rarely treats us fairly, Cecil," the Elder filled the silence. They had reached the bottom of the stairwell when he stopped in front of the door, facing Cecil with a stern gaze. "Take what you are given, give in return, and you will find that little else matters. Dwelling on what could or should have been is simply a waste of the mind."

"It is difficult sometimes, but I agree that I must embrace what I have now," Cecil accepted the advice gracefully. "Do you believe she will ever wake again?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that question," the Elder replied, guiding Cecil through the doorway to his small personal library. A candelabra on simple wooden desk maintained a pleasant light in the cylindrical chamber, the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The Elder waved his hand at a chair and it pulled itself out as if by an unseen force. "What do you believe?"

"I believe she has something important to tell me, and that she will have her chance in time," Cecil answered as he took the chair offered to him, his shadow thrown against a stack of books behind him.

"And do you have any idea what it is that she wishes to tell you?" the Elder asked, almost as if he were testing him.

"That I do not know," Cecil admitted. "But I have every intention of being there when she wakes, so that I might find…" Cecil found himself unable to actually pin down what it was he was hoping to learn, the feeling still somewhat amorphous.

"What you must realize, Cecil, is that whatever you find will only be the beginning of your journey," the Elder cut in, noticing the mental struggle that Cecil was dealing with. Cecil looked a bit surprised at the words, and he started to wonder if the Elder knew a great deal more than he was letting on.

"Is that why you have been praying for me in the tower since my arrival?" Cecil inquired, remembering Palom's words when he first landed in Mysidia. "Have you seen something during your rituals? A vision?"

"Indeed I have, but that is not a subject that I have been given the right to reveal at this time," the Elder replied with regret. "But know this: the Paladin's legacy is far from over. The planet is still in need of the sacred light."

"So I will be called forth once again?" Cecil asked, slightly worried at the ominous message. "Do I even have a choice in the matter?"

"Your burden will always be your legacy, Cecil" the Elder replied. "Overcoming your darkness on Mt. Ordeals was a weight lifted from your soul, but in its place there was the fate of the planet. You were given this responsibility not just because your father chose you, but because he saw in you the willingness to fight through anything to release the world from the grip of evil."

"You have too much faith in me, Elder," Cecil said, not fully convinced of his fate. He wasn't sure he could go through another war against such great evil. Even talking about it made him anxious, but he took this opportunity to segue into a political matter that needed tending. "But if you believe in me so, why have you not responded to any of my heralds over the past year? The Gaia Treaty has been one of my most successful writs, establishing peaceful relations throughout the world's kingdoms and communes. Yet your signature is still absent. My council will not allow me to open the Devil Road until we have it."

"I am sorry, Cecil, but you must be mistaken," the Elder responded with a look of confusion. "We have received no heralds from your kingdom with any such notion of a treaty."

"How is that possible?" Cecil asked. "You receive couriers from kingdoms throughout the world every day. I just received a letter from Rosa no more than two days ago, so the routes to Baron are open. I sent three copies of the documents over the past year. Are you saying that they were simply lost?"

"I am telling you what I know to be true, that we never received the documents," the Elder was beginning to show signs of worry, and Cecil could see that he was telling the truth. "This can only mean that a third hand has been manipulating the course of events."

"But who could possibly want to undermine our diplomacy with Mysidia? What would anyone have to gain from that?"

"That, young Paladin, will have to wait for another meeting," the Elder said with a nod to the doorway behind Cecil. "Someone is here for you."

Before Cecil could even turn his head, there was a knock on the door. The Elder held out his hand, allowing Cecil to leave his seat and answer it. When he opened the door, one of his mother's clerics was on the other side, a look of urgency upon her face.

"Sir Cecil, please come quick," she said, nearly out of breath. "Your mother is awake!"

**:::**

In a blur of gray and red, King Hector escorted Rydia and Agleson down a secret corridor that ran from the Great Hall behind one of the banners. Agleson's wound was grievous, and he winced in pain with every step. Rydia wanted to hold his hand, but she didn't want to cause him any more agony, and they had to move quickly. When they reached the end of the hallway, Hector laid his hand on a brick in the wall. To Rydia's astonishment, the brick moved inward, the sound of chains and latches working furiously behind it. In a rush of cold mountain air, the wall parted, and they found themselves in an atrium with a variety of chocobos.

"This is where I must leave you," Hector said with great remorse. The look of sorrow in his eyes tore at Rydia's heart, for she knew that his hopes of a peaceful kingdom had just been shattered moments ago. "Please take one of our black chocobos, and continue your journey. It seems the foul disease of corruption has already taken hold in my kingdom, and I fear that I cannot keep you safe here."

"Your Majesty, please do not blame yourself," Rydia pleaded. "I should have come straight to you with the warning I received before the banquet."

"A warning?" King Hector looked perplexed.

"Yes, my liege," Agleson strained through the throbbing of the bolt still left in his shoulder. "It was a warning about your brother, Philip. He is the one that set this up. I bet my life on it."

"You very nearly did, Agleson," the King conceded. "Your bravery will not go unheeded, and I will interrogate my brother as soon as my men have him in custody. You are likely to be a target now that you have shown your intentions to protect Lady Rydia. You must go with her to ensure her safety as well as your own. Your troupe from Damcyan was planning to leave tomorrow, but I suggest you take their ship under the cover of night should there be another attempt on Rydia's life."

"Agreed, Your Majesty," Agleson said, trying hard not to let his grimace show too much.

"Your wound is severe, Agleson," Rydia said, looking at the blood soaked stain wrapping around his shoulder. "We need to get you to a healer first."

"No time," Agleson was finding it difficult to string words together without gritting his teeth. "There…will be curative elixirs…on board…the vessel."

"Then please hurry, both of you," King Hector began ushering them into the atrium. "I must attend to this matter swiftly, and I apologize for not being able to offer you any more assistance from here."

"This is more than enough, thank you," Rydia assured the troubled young king. His royal guard urged him to retreat to a safe location. The look in his eyes was that of a man who had lost everything, and the shame of his brother's actions was clear as the wall between them closed slowly until they were at last alone.

 


	7. Cecil's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil finally gets a chance to learn about his past as he talks at length with his mother.

When he parted the curtain, he saw her there as radiant as ever in the soft candlelight. It was as if she had never slipped away, as though this curse had never been mentioned. Her smile betrayed the finality of her precious few waking days that were left on this planet, and Cecil couldn't help but admire her from the doorway before announcing his arrival.

She held a small stone, a shimmering crystal dangling at the end of a silver chain around her neck, turning it back and forth slowly in the fingers of one hand, starbursts of light dancing across her face. When she finally looked towards the doorway, Cecil smiled wide and quickly made his way to her side, kneeling to leave a kiss upon her forehead before taking the seat already set out for him. Her skin had changed, he could feel it on his lips, see it in the creases around her eyes. It left an unshakeable drip of worry in the back of his mind, hiding behind his joyful façade.

"How are you feeling, mother?" Cecil asked, breaking a week of silence. "I was worried that you might not awaken again, that I had lost you too soon."

"My dear, you needn't worry," she spoke with a soft, unsteady voice, the muscles in her throat slowly regaining the memory of speech. "When the time comes for me to leave this world for the next, you will know. Despite your worry, something in you kept you here. Something in you knew I would wake again. Even after all these years, the bond of our blood is strong enough to maintain our EiSanKi."

"Our EiSanKi?" Cecil asked as he took a cup of water from the desk behind him, handing it to his mother. She took a generous drink, her eyes closed as the cool water soothed her. She handed the cup back with a grateful smile.

"You see this?" Cecil's mother held out the crystal she had been observing when he first walked in. Cecil was mesmerized by it, the faint glow it emitted was so familiar to him. "This is what your father gave to me when we arrived at the Crystal Palace. I believe that is where we left off before my curse so rudely interrupted us, no?"

Cecil nodded with a weakened smile, the image of his mother becoming comatose in his arms nothing short of a disturbing string of memory that he would like to cut out. She could see the concern in his eyes, and she reached out with a tender hand to his soft cheek, her touch sending a warmth through his skin in which he couldn't help to lose himself. His eyes closed as he tried to push the painful emotions of his mother's condition out of his head, if only to replace them with this moment of her being the mother that he never knew he needed.

"I am so sorry, Cecil," she said with a sorrow that he couldn't bear. He fought to smile as reassuringly as he could, but he could not keep the tears that had welled up behind the dam of his eyes from escaping. "I know that I have no right to tell you not to worry. My decision to stay out of your life was the most difficult choice I have ever had to make. But we are here now, and we have so much to learn from each other. Should we spend our remaining time wallowing in sadness for my inevitable departure? Or for the countless years that we were apart? For the memories that we could have made together?"

"No," Cecil answered softly. He opened his eyes a bit stronger than a moment ago, his smile a bit more reassuring. He took her hand from his cheek and lowered it gently to her side, curling his fingers between hers. "We should take every moment as an opportunity. I shall not waste any more time on wishing things had been different."

"I agree. The clerics informed me that I have lapsed for nearly a week, which means my condition is progressing much faster than I anticipated," she informed him, her voice still soft but with a hint of urgency. "Shall I continue?"

"Yes, of course," Cecil said as he wiped a final tear from his cheek, taking a sip of water himself before laying the empty cup back on the table. "You were telling me about the crystal pendant you're wearing."

"This crystal is the reason I am here, Cecil," she informed him. "It is the gift your father gave to me, and it is also the curse that I carry with me now."

"What do you mean?"

"Your father brought me to the Crystal Palace because he knew that what we needed to do back on the blue planet would take time. Time that I did not have to give in the span of a single life," she answered cryptically. "Our spirits were bonded, our souls intertwined in a ceremonial ritual overseen by FuSoYa. This spiritual binding creates the EiSanKi, the spirit blood connection. It is what allows those of the same bloodline to sense one another, and it is what gave you the continued hope that I would awaken. In this ritual my soul was also bound to the Lunarian crystals, their essence infused in my blood. As long as I was in the presence of MaKo, the mother moon, I would be bestowed with the lifespan of a Lunarian."

"Now that the moon is gone…" Cecil started to answer the question he had pondered before, but it quickly led him back to the sadness he had tried so hard to escape just a moment ago. With a mental course correction he diverted to another line of thought. "…this is how you lived long before the Elder, how you could have seen changes in Mysidia's history now only known in texts. How long is a Lunarian lifespan?"

"I cannot speak for the ultimate longevity of any one person, but the average Lunarian can live over a thousand years," she answered. "At the time that seemed like an eternity. Now it feels like it went by so fast. It is amazing what you can accomplish when you are given a dozen lifetimes, and yet I always wish I could have done more. As your father would say, that is the human condition."

"So you and my father continued his mission on the blue planet then?" Cecil asked, his anticipation for the details of their travels evident on his face. She smiled as she turned the crystal in her thin, delicate fingers once again, looking at its many facets, its glow faint but steady.

"Yes, my dear, but before I get to that I want to show you something," she said, knowing that the suspense was likely getting to her son. "Do you see what is etched on this face of the crystal?" She lifted it so that Cecil could observe the brilliant blue stone, a small inscription intricately carved into one side. "What does it say, my son?"

"Ma…To…Ya…" Cecil answered, reading the Lunarian phrase with soft reverence. He quickly recognized the three syllables from previous translations. "Mother, Carrier of Light?"

"Very good!" she replied with excitement, as if she had imparted valuable information upon an astute pupil. Cecil experienced a rush of childish satisfaction that he managed to hide with some difficulty. "This was the name given to me once my soul was bound to the crystal. It is the name with which I would return to our world as a Lunarian vanguard. It has been my identity for most of my life, and with it came the greatest responsibility to the planet and its people. Over time, however, it became easier to simply refer to myself as Matoya when around other humans."

"Matoya…my mother's name is Matoya…it's beautiful," Cecil said with hushed glee, the simple fact that he could call his mother by name bringing out a surprising amount of joy. "And it is fitting, as you carried me, the sacred light spoken of in the Mysidian legend," Cecil put a few puzzle pieces together in his mind, his heritage becoming slightly clearer.

"That, my dear Cecil, is something that I wish to clarify," she said with a tinge of sadness. Cecil was quick to pick up on it, his brow furrowed slightly with apprehension. "Could you fetch that wooden box on the table there?"

Cecil followed her finger as it pointed to a short table at the foot of the bed, a square block of Mysidian pine resting on it. He stood and walked to the table, eyeing the box as he hovered over it, the wood streaked with loops of dark heartwood weaving through the lighter grain. He lifted it with two hands, feeling the smooth edges, the scent of linseed oil lifted to his nose. It was otherwise very plain, a nondescript box that provided no clues to its contents. He returned to the bedside, laying the box upon her lap.

"What I am about to show you may come as a surprise," she said, only adding to the tension. "Know that I will not leave this world without explaining everything that you deserve."

"I know," Cecil assured her, trying not to alarm her with his anxious eyes. "I will leave here with no regrets."

Matoya nodded with a smile, taking a deep breath as she laid her hands upon the top of the wooden box. When she lifted the lid, Cecil was shocked to suddenly be blinded by a bright white light. His hand shielded his eyes for a moment until they could adjust, and when he was finally able to see the contents, his eyes were wide with curiosity.

"These are crystal pendants, just like mine," she answered the question that needn't be asked. "Each belongs to one of my sons."

"There are three," Cecil whispered, still in a state of awe.

"Yes, you have two older brothers, one of which you already know."

"Golbeze…" Cecil trailed off, still staring at the crystals.

"Do not say that name!" Matoya came back with a sharp retort. Cecil was taken aback, his attention easily ripped from the dazzling contents of the box at the sudden outburst. He found an incredible amount of pain behind her eyes, which she quickly withdrew into a shell of regret. "I am sorry, my dear, but I…" she almost seemed as though she might begin to cry, the thought of Cecil's brother bringing untold grief to the surface. "I cannot bear to hear it because…" another pause as she pushed back the pain of the words. "…that is not your brother's name. Not the name he was given."

"What?" Cecil's was struck with confusion. He had only known his brother by one name, and neither he nor FuSoYa had mentioned anything different. "What name was he given?"

"See for yourself," she waved her hand over the open box. Each pendant was slender, no longer than Cecil's smallest finger, uneven facets speckled the circumference until it ended with a rounded point at one end. The other end was attached to a polished silver holdfast, the prongs of which gripped the crystal like a mother spider around its precious silkspun eggs. The silver chain was meticulously laid in a perfect spiral above each pendant, waiting to be finally free from their wooden confinement. Cecil noticed that the light was emanating from only one of the three, the others seemingly hollow. "The one that shines is yours. It senses the presence of your soul."

Cecil reached into the box and gently grasped the glowing stone, its warmth surging through his fingers until it reached his heart. From there it spread throughout his body, a tingling sensation that he could feel in his veins. He was overcome with a sudden burst of memories that played out in unintelligible still images. He couldn't make any sense of what he saw, only recognizing the face of his mother in a few of the scenes. As quickly as the images ran through his mind, they vanished. The warmth remained, but his mind was clear.

"I saw…" Cecil started but lost himself in a search for what he had actually just experienced. He let the crystal slide into his palm as he wrapped his fingers tightly around it, hoping to get another glimpse of the past. "I saw memories…"

"These will come and go, my son, and in time will become clear. The crystal will need time to reconnect with your spirit, your EiSanKi."

Cecil then focused on the many facets of the stone, looking for an etching similar to his mother's. He found three syllables on the largest face of the stone.

"Se…Sol…Ya," he whispered, a mix of emotions coursing through him as he realized he had just found his true name. It suddenly struck him that he had gone through his life up until now with a false identity, a name that now meant very little to him. How could he have ever felt as though he knew himself if he had never known this one simple thing? The one thing that any person attaches themselves to, draws their strength from, feels joy when a loved one calls it? While he had felt these emotions at times living as Cecil Harvey, it was clear now why they had never felt as full and true.

"It means Sacred Son of Light," she provided, anticipating his question. "When you were born, your father and I blessed this crystal, whispered your name into it until it erupted in a brilliant white light, and your spirit was forever bound to it. It will record your memories, both joyful and mournful, and when you most need them for guidance, it will answer. I hope that it brings you comfort when I am gone."

Cecil took the silver chain attached to his crystal, and placed it around his neck, the glowing stone reflecting off the white plate of his armor. The brilliant light lit the entire room with gold flecks reflected from the inlays of his armor sprinkled around the canvas walls and thatched roof. He took the crystal in his hand one more time, hoping that it might speak to him once more. No visions came to him, so he tucked it under his thin, decorative breastplate, close to his heart.

"Thank you," was all that he could manage through the rush of feelings he was still sorting out. While he wanted the time to reflect, he reminded himself that his mother's time was precious, and decided to continue investigating the question he had posed earlier. The other two stones seemed devoid of any light, perfectly vacuous and clear. If it weren't for the edges of the crystal's many facets, they may have appeared invisible.

"Do they only shine when the owner is near?"

"Indeed, they respond to the proximity and the strength of the soul. As long as the spirit is alive and well within the confines of this world it should always have at least a faint aura," Matoya answered, solemnly looking down at her own pendant. "You'll notice mine quivers with a dull glow, as my spirit is slowly fading. When I am gone, you will know by the absence of this light."

Cecil didn't want to traverse those fields of sadness again. Instead he focused on his brothers, picking up one of the crystals to quickly find the inscription.

"Ha…Mut…Ya."

"That is your brother's given name," Matoya responded, her voice somber. Cecil began to wonder if something more than his dark turn at the hands of Zemus had happened to have caused her so much grief. "It means Hallowed Dragon of Light. Our family is descended from the Goddess of the Hallowed Dragons, BaHaMut."

"Bahamut…?" Cecil was stunned. His memory of the great dragon they encountered on the moon was visceral, a grueling test of strength and will. Her last words to him addressed him as "one bearing the light". He hadn't thought about it until now, but she had said it with a great amount of pride, despite her defeat. Cecil wondered if the Goddess could feel her bloodline in his veins.

"Yes, the Lunarians worship the Goddess. The history of their people claims that, in their previous world, dragons and other spiritual creatures coexisted peacefully with them," she explained. "These spirit beings were called EiDoLon, or spirits of the divine land. When their world succumbed to its great catastrophe, the EiDoLon made the ultimate sacrifice to get the Lunarians to the MaKo. All but one perished."

"I see, so Bahamut is revered as the sole symbol of their saviors," Cecil spoke, more for his own clarity. "But how is our family descended from a dragon?"

"As you know, an EiDoLon can take many forms. While not common, it is not impossible for spirits to begin developing emotions similar to us," she answered. "It is written that a man many millennia ago was taken in by the Goddess. He was a devout follower, and she cared for him deeply. They conceived many children, but only one survived long enough to have his own. The bloodline of BaHaMut is a venerable lineage, and it is highly coveted in Lunarian society. Historically, much conflict has arisen over ancestry and rights of heritage, and some secretly vowed to end our line."

"Zemus…" the name already brought a bitter taste with it, but now it was almost unbearable. "So there _were_ others? This is why FuSoYa suspected that humans would not be safe coexisting with the Lunarians?"

"Indeed. As much as our family was respected, it can be perilous to be perceived as descendants of a deity," she continued his train of thought. "Your father never seemed that concerned with social statuses and politics. He would say we were destined to be here. I think we are incredibly lucky to be here."

"Do you…" Cecil was oddly thrown off by her statement. "Do you not believe the legends? Do you not believe that I was destined to stop Zemus?"

"I _know_ you were not destined to end ZeMus's life," she responded firmly. Cecil's eyes went wide with disbelief. "You _are_ the sacred son of light, but you were not chosen for this life, SeSol."

"I…I don't…" Cecil couldn't get anything out. It was as if his whole belief system had just been overturned.

"Tell me your brother's name again?" she asked, though Cecil felt as if it were a rhetorical question.

"HaMutYa, the Hallowed Dragon of Light," Cecil spoke, the revelation hitting him like a stone to the chest. "He is the one…the one of which the Mysidian legend heralds. He is the one born of a dragon."

"Now you see," she said with a smile. "HaMutYa was trained by your father specifically to defend the blue planet from those that would seek to destroy our peaceful intentions. Under your father's tutelage he reached the depths of arcane magic that others feared, becoming fluent in the arts of white _and_ black magic. He even began learning to summon the EiDoLon that inhabit this planet, a skill that is difficult even for full-blooded Lunarians to master." Matoya had an almost reverent tone as she spoke, but then her eyes shut as she began to slowly shake her head. "But neither of us could foresee that ZeMus would be able to slip into your brother's mind through his crystal. Even after your father took his crystal from him, it was too late. The darkness had taken him." She opened her eyes and looked at Cecil with lament. "You were given the gift of light by your father only because you had the goodness in your heart to accept it, to take on the responsibility that was stolen from your brother."

Cecil's eyes raced as his mind worked through so many issues that this raised. This answer only brewed so many more questions. Could he truly have been walking someone else's path? Living the life intended for his brother? Matoya tilted her head to catch his eyes, bringing him back to the moment at hand.

"SeSol, I know this can only confound you more, but life is not always as transparent as we demand. Even your father, who was always so careful about his plans, couldn't see clearly enough to account for all the consequences. He fell victim to his own faith that HaMut would defend the blue planet against ZeMus's inevitable evil."

"Fell victim…? Did Gol…my brother…kill our father?" Cecil feared that he knew the answer to the question already, and his mother's solemn face only added to that assurance.

"Yes…" she whispered as a tear dripped from the cliff of her cheek. Her eyes begged him not to ask the questions that this surely roused, and Cecil felt a pang of guilt for even thinking of prying further. "I'm sorry, SeSol, but I do not wish to walk down that road again right now."

"It's okay, mother, please do not force it upon yourself for my sake," Cecil said as he took her hand. She wiped another tear that had clung to her eyelashes. To ease her away from such woe, Cecil picked up the last crystal in the box. "I never knew that I had a third brother."

"He was the typical middle child, always wild and rebellious," she spoke with a bit more perk, as though moving on was a welcome relief. "He lived in the colony with us until your father died, at which point I knew it was no longer safe for either of you."

"The colony?" Cecil felt as if a rather important piece of information had been left out somewhere along the line.

"Oh dear, we've skipped so far ahead in my story that I never even told you," she said with a soft laugh. "Near the end of our journey together, your father had a vision. A vision of a village that was to be the beginning of a peaceful coexistence between humans and Lunarians. You could call it an experiment, as your father did, but I always found that so sterile. I always preferred its given name, which I am proud to say I came up with. You know this place, SeSol. You were there when it was destroyed at the hands of HaMut."

"I…" Cecil was speechless. "Mist is… was…"

"I know, SeSol," she said ruefully. "I cried for days, weeks on end when word had spread to Mysidia. My only consolation was seeing you alive when you came back to receive the light from your father on Mount Ordeals."

"So the people there, the Summoners. Were they Lunarian?" Cecil asked.

"Some, yes. Your father took a great risk in waking a few Lunarians from their slumber, ones that he knew he could trust," she answered. "During our travels there were human followers that we felt were also trustworthy. We built the village together in the valley in hopes that we could live without interference from other societies. We assumed it would be too difficult for wandering trespassers to traverse either the mountain caves or the deserts of Kaipo, and we enveloped the outskirts of the village in a veil of mist to deter those more intrepid travelers from entering. It worked well until the advent of airships."

"I remember the village looked so peaceful when I first set foot in the valley," Cecil recalled with woe. "To think that our coexistence could have been so tranquil…"

"Do not hold yourself accountable for what happened, SeSol," Matoya put her hand on Cecil's arm, giving a gentle squeeze. "ZeMus used your brother to end our attempts at coexistence, for he could not stand the thought of human blood defiling Lunarian lineages. If you had not gone, someone else would have been in your stead."

"I don't even remember living there as a child," Cecil struggled to pull memories that weren't there.

"I took you from the village shortly after you were born," Matoya filled in the gap. "Once HaMut turned on your father, I felt that I had no choice but to take you from the village. You're middle brother's rebellious nature led him to reject our exodus, and he remained. I traveled to Baron and gave you to the king, in hopes that he could protect you and give you a life away from our family's cursed legacy. I then fled to Mysidia, the only home I could think of, in hopes that if HaMut ever came looking for me, he would not find you."

"My middle brother…" Cecil turned his attention back to the crystal waiting patiently in his hand, turning it before his eyes until he came across the letters that spelled his brother's name. "Fe…Ros…Ya…" Cecil read the words, expecting his mother to provide the translation before he even had the chance to ask. He was answered only with silence. "Mother?"

Her head had come to rest on the pillow behind her, tilted towards him. Her eyes were closed, her chest barely cresting with her soft breath, and her crystal pendant flickered with an unsteady oscillation. The world around her seemed to grow darker, and Cecil couldn't help feeling like he was losing his sight. It only took a moment of searching the room around him to notice that the candle by her bedside had consumed the last of the wax, fading slowly until it disappeared in an upward stream of smoke. Cecil sat there in the dark, unmoving, his mind racing to compartmentalize the wealth of information he had just received. He felt as though his life was changing, like he was growing into a new person, all in a matter of minutes.

It was then that another torrent of visions surged through his mind, the warmth from the crystal on his chest pulsing in time with the light shining underneath his armor. Cecil shut his eyes tight and focused on the image that contained his only memory of his mother. He saw the village of Mist, his mother cradling him in her arms, a small boy defiantly standing his ground against her…and then nothing. When he opened his eyes again, the darkness had fully settled in. The room was a black slate…except for a hint of light. He thought it was his own crystal shining from beneath his armor, or possibly his mother's, but when he looked down he noticed that one of his brother's crystals had a faint aura.

 


	8. Rydia's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rydia finds her heart pushing her to do things she's never done.

"Hold still, this is going to hurt."

Rydia carefully dabbed the tender flesh around the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. A trickle of blood slithered down Agleson's arm, hidden by his sleeve until it dripped from his wrist, curling through his fingers before falling to the wooden planks below. From this crimson river delta, a red trail stained the white fabric leading up to the source: a dark, metal bolt erupting from the wound in his shoulder. As she pressed the generous wad of green velvet that used to be a gorgeous glove just below the site of entry, her other hand was winding a thin leather strap from a purse satchel in a criss-cross just below the recurved edges of the arrowhead and around the shaft to provide a grip.

To both Agleson's great suffering and great fortune, the bolt had hit bone before it could sink too deeply into his flesh, but the head of the bolt was large, nearly the size of a short dagger, with four pairs of recurved cusps on either side of the flat blade, two of which were lodged firmly beneath the skin. The bolt would have likely killed him had it hit any other part of his body. This was no reassurance to the bard laying on the deck, however, as beads of harrowing sweat formed in vast armies all about his face. Rydia could see the panic in his eyes, his adrenaline wearing off, leaving him with only the incredible pain shooting through his body. She wished she had the composure of a white wizard in these situations, to be able to calmly assess and attack the problem, while simultaneously giving the patient a sense of peace that everything would be okay. She wished that Rosa were here.

A lantern hanging above swayed gently with the rolling waves as the schooner left the port of Agart, the stars above offering their twinkling spirits to those below. Shadows danced across the deck as the light of the lantern played with Rydia's figure, hovering over the bard, who was beginning to bang his free fist on the solid oak planks, an erratic thump that she could feel in her knees. She was almost done winding the leather when the rhythmic pounding finally broke her.

"You have to stop moving!" she spat with desperate anger. Agleson looked at her, wide-eyed, never having heard such a tone from this young woman. But he knew she was just as scared as he, and he knew that she was the only chance he had of getting through this. He held his fist at his side, but clutched it as tightly as he could, digging his nails into his palm to refocus the pain anywhere but the delicate razor tip resting in his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Agleson, I'm just trying to help."

"I know," Agleson managed through clenched teeth as the tip of the bolt shifted ever so slightly in his wound. "Can't I…take the elixir before you…go any further?"

"If you take the elixir before I pull the arrowhead out of you then the wound will heal around it," Rydia informed him as calmly as she could muster. "You'll still need to have it removed, which is still going to hurt. Unless, of course, you have an outfit that goes with it."

"You'd be surprised," Agleson strained a laugh, which allowed Rydia to finally set an anxious smile free. She finished wrapping the strap around the shaft of the bolt, taking her other glove off and folding it several times before holding it over Agleson's shivering face.

"Bite down on this," Rydia instructed. Agleson opened his mouth to allow her to stuff the garment between his teeth, knowing by the terrified look in her eyes that the moment had come. She looked down, wrapped one loop of the leather strap around her fingers and then glanced back at the wide-eyed man lying flat on his back, his life resting firmly in her hands. There was a pause of serenity between them, a message passed from one's eyes to another, a breath that they each took in unison before the muscles in Rydia's arms tensed, and she pulled with a swift, upward arc.

The muffled screams that burst from the man as his head arched back left little to the imagination the amount of pain that he felt at that moment. Rydia pressed firmly against the open wound, blood gushing effortlessly to stain the wooden planks a deep hue of red. The bolt hit the floor with a tinny ring that was drowned out by Agleson's panting as he released his velvet gag with the last of his agony, knowing the worst was now over. Rydia was quick to hand him the bottle of elixir, which he took carefully, not allowing a single drop to be wasted. As soon as the liquid hit the back of his throat he could feel the pain melting from his body, flowing somewhere below to a place deep in the sea to drift away with the currents. The bleeding stopped instantly, his breathing became more regular, the color flushing back to his cheeks, and with some effort he began to lift himself to sit upright.

"Thank y—" before he could finish the sentence, Rydia had launched herself upon him, arms wrapped around his neck. Tears were streaming down her face as she pressed her cheek against his skin. They shared their warmth for a moment before Agleson pulled her away gently to look at her. All of the stress and tension was flooding out of her eyes, but she was smiling through it, and Agleson returned the passion. He leaned towards her, and they shared a gentle kiss there on the bow, under the stardust sky. When their lips parted, they could only help but stare at each other, neither feeling the need to share words.

"Pardon me, Lady Rydia, but I have the cloth bandages and the salve you requested," a deckhand interrupted, holding out the supplies she had asked for when she first half-dragged the bard aboard. She had requested them as a precaution, in case the elixirs had been improperly stored which could render them ineffective, or worse, toxic. She would never forget the time in the Sealed Cave when Edge had found an elixir in the clutches of a warrior long dead, only to become violently ill upon ingesting it. Agleson stood up, helping Rydia to her feet as well, before turning and accepting the bandages. He nodded the man off, and then passed them to his green-haired savior.

"How long was he standing there?" Rydia asked, a little embarrassed of someone seeing their moment of affection. Agleson grinned at her, slightly amused at her bashfulness.

"I'm sure he was watching the whole time," Agleson said with a jest. "These sailors are always complaining that they don't get enough shore leave."

Rydia slapped his shoulder playfully, completely forgetting that it had just sustained a serious injury. She was quickly reminded of it when Agleson winced in pain. Her face drained of joy as she took his hand.

"I'm sorry, Agleson. I am such a fool, I…" Rydia was beginning to babble incomprehensibly, so mortified that she may have reinjured the bard. But his pain-stricken face suddenly turned into a wide, toothy grin, to which Rydia stood dumbstruck.

"I jest, milady!"

"That's not funny!" Rydia shouted with half-hearted seriousness. She gave him a stern look, but couldn't hold the edge of a grin from sneaking into the corner of her mouth. Agleson picked up on it quickly.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Rye Rye," Agleson said with a mock soothing voice. "I am a bard, after all. It is my duty to jest and entertain those that need it most. Plus, it might be years before I ever have to take an arrow for someone again, and the joke would be terribly stale by then!"

"At least your sense of _humor_ wasn't injured in the attempt on _my_ life," Rydia came back with a playful scowl, her tongue pointed fiercely at him. Agleson bowed with grace, resigning the battle of wits before he said something that might truly ruin the mood. When he lifted his head he saw a look of authentic worry drawn upon her face. She was pointing at his shoulder. "Agleson…your wound."

He looked down at his blood-stained clothing, unable to tell where skin began and fabric ended. But he did notice that a glistening red gash still occupied his shoulder, exposing what he could only surmise was muscle tissue. No blood ran from this ulcer, and he felt no pain, but the sight of it was ghastly.

"Why didn't it heal properly?" Agleson asked, looking just as worried as his summoner companion. Her face did not give him an answer he wanted to hear.

"I don't know," she said, perplexed by the elixir's failure to heal the wound. "Let's get you to a bunk below and apply a salve before I wrap it with the bandages. I worry it might get infected."

"We can't forget my souvenir," Agleson said, bending over to pick up the bolt that had caused all this grief. Rydia walked at his side, slipping her fingers between his without even thinking, both eyeing the projectile as he held it up, turning it in the lamplight. "It appears to have an inscription on one side. And if I'm not mistaken it's…glowing?"

"You are not mistaken," Rydia stopped Agleson for a moment, pulling his arm down so she could get a closer look at the lettering etched in the metal. She had, at first, suspected a magical enchantment or charm that had been cast upon the arrowhead, but upon further inspection she realized the scribbles were just…scribbles. The language was completely alien to her, yet still strangely familiar, as though she had seen the runes during her travels. But where?

"Can you decipher its meaning?" Agleson pried softly. He could see that Rydia was intent on discovering its purpose, but her prolonged silence could only mean that she was at a loss.

"I do not recognize this, but I feel as though I may have seen something similar…somewhere," Rydia finally replied. "I thought, perhaps, that it was an enchantment, but I can't be sure."

"Could this be why the elixir did not heal my wound completely?" Agleson was beginning to get concerned at the implications of this.

"Perhaps, but it is too soon to say for sure," Rydia relayed the concern, though she suddenly broke out into a smile, an attempt to reassure the bard. "But try not to worry. Where we are going you will have the supervision of our world's greatest healer."

"And where might you be whisking me away?" Agleson asked. In his pain-induced stupor upon boarding the vessel, he had been unaware that Rydia had told the crew to set sail for the only other place she felt she could call home.

"The Kingdom of Baron," she answered with a genuine smile, a feeling of happiness pushing to the surface at the thought of being reunited with Cecil and Rosa, two dear friends that were as close as family. "It may take almost a week to get there, but rest assured that Queen Rosa can heal your wound."

"I trust you," Agleson replied with a smile as they returned to their walk down the port side of the ship. The sails billowed with a steady pulse in the wind, the masts releasing their growls and sighs as they pulled the schooner along its north-bound course. They walked in silence, simply enjoying the sounds, the presence of one another, feeling the warmth of each other's skin in their hands. The waves splashed in a peaceful rhythm, and the distant rumble of a thunderstorm led both of their eyes to view nature's fireworks display on an invisible horizon. Agleson stopped shy of the hatch leading to the lower decks, turning Rydia to face the storm. "Do you ever wish that you could hold on to moments like these? To somehow bottle them up, to open when you most need it?"

"Sometimes," Rydia confessed. She had many memories that she wish she could relive, and yet that very thing was what left her so torn, for her memories existed in two separate worlds. "But then I think that holding too tightly to those memories somehow diminishes them. The comfort they bring us is fleeting, and they will never feel as pure as they do the moment they happen."

"Then I do not wish to leave this moment," Agleson said, his hazel eyes glistening from a nearby lantern, his face half aglow. Rydia couldn't hide the flush of red that rose in her cheeks. She wanted more than anything to simply enjoy the tranquility of their surroundings, to get lost in love, a feeling that she wasn't sure she was fully capable of yet. She could feel her heart drumming against her chest, and she let it guide her actions. She pressed her body against his as their lips met once again, a passionate kiss that felt like it could stop the sands of time. Her skin shivered from the excitement, the tingling warmth of Agleson's hand as it caressed her neck like a ripple spreading across the lake of her. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the curve behind his ears, the bristle such a novel sensation to her hands. If the moment was over, she never would have known it, for even after Agleson pulled back, she could feel the electricity running along her soft lips. She opened her eyes to his smiling visage, and she felt a connection so exotic, so revolutionary to her senses that it actually scared her.

"I…" Rydia began to say something, but the words scattered before she had the chance to utter them. The aftershocks of her emotions left her spellbound.

"It's okay," Agleson said, seeing that she was having trouble making sense of her feelings. "We said we would take it slow. We have a week, after all. Shall we?"

Agleson reached down to pull the hatch, revealing a short flight of stairs leading below. He guided her down with his free hand, never taking his eyes off her delicate figure. She watched her steps, but glanced up occasionally to catch his admiring gaze. He followed behind her and slowly let the hatch come back to its resting place. The darkness was sporadic below decks, with glowing circles of light bordered by a maze of shadows. Agleson then moved ahead to lead her to the bunks where they could apply the bandages, a small room off the main corridor with two beds on opposite walls. One lantern between the beds managed to shed enough light to fill the vacancy.

"Your royal suite, milady," Agleson waved his hand in offering. Rydia giggled, a bit of the romantic tension from earlier eased away.

"It will do just fine," she replied with a smile. "Now have a seat so I can get a better look at your wound. You'll need to remove your shirt."

"I thought we were taking it slow?" Agleson teased as he plopped on the bed, tossing the bolt on the nightstand. Rydia narrowed her eyes at him with a lighthearted smirk, to which he laughed affectionately. "Okay, that's the last one I get for tonight."

"Agreed!" Rydia responded with exaggerated exasperation. They both found the laughter to be infectious, and she was enjoying the flirtatious banter. Such badinage was rare in the underworld, and she found the jokes she tried to tell to the spirits there often went undetected. Not for their lack of trying, however. They simply missed that emotional connection.

"Have you ever been injured like this before?" Rydia asked as Agleson began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, trying to distract herself from the anticipation of seeing his exposed skin.

"Never," Agleson confided with a chuckle. "The worst I've suffered was a sprained ankle while hiking from Damcyan to Fabul. I'd like to say that I bravely suffered through the pain just to stand before the King's court to play for the wedding of his daughter to one of his monks. But alas, my troupe had to carry me back to Damcyan, my ankle as bruised as my ego."

"Well thank you for not embellishing the truth," Rydia said with an innocent laugh. She appreciated his humble attitude, a refreshing change from the last man that had tried to court her years ago. Agleson smiled as he slid his shirt gently down his arms behind him, letting it fall in a crumpled, bloody heap on the bed. It took all of her willpower to keep her focus on the wound and not elsewhere. She took the small jar of salve that had been brought to her when they first arrived on the boat, unfastening the cloth lid to release a pungent odor of mint. She examined the wound, noticing that it looked quite clean, despite the fact that it was a gaping slit in his shoulder. With a gentle fingertip, she scooped a small amount of the white cream and rubbed it around the split skin. "Does this hurt?"

"Not at all," Agleson replied, grateful for her tenderness. "Is that bad?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest," Rydia confessed. "I need to put some of this inside the wound. The exposed areas are most prone to infection."

"Thanks for the warning," Agleson responded with a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Her tender touch was incredibly soothing, the salve cooling the skin of the wound. Agleson released the breath he had been holding in anticipation for a fierce sting that never came. He just watched as she carefully filled the laceration, making every effort not to disturb it, lest the bleeding resume. Her hair smelled of lilac and rosehips, he noticed. When she finished, she leaned back to set the jar of salve on the wooden table in exchange for the bandages. Her eyes met his for a moment, and they both smiled as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, lifting his arm to a horizontal position.

"Hold your arm just like this," she instructed softly as she began wrapping the downy cotton bands with careful attention not to agitate the wound. Stolen glances and demure smiles were all that existed in the silent minutes that passed as Rydia applied the bandages, finishing the wrap with a twist and tie, tightened directly over the wound, applying light pressure to prevent further bleeding should the tear in the flesh reopen. "There, that should do it."

"Is it wrong of me to hope that it will leave a scar?" Agleson jested. "I would love the opportunity to tell the tale of brave Sir Ardwick, savior of the savior of the planet!"

"As long as you make me sound good in the story," Rydia replied as she stood up to put away the unused bandages before taking a seat on the opposite bed only a few feet away.

"That's the easy part, Rye Rye," he flirted with a smile. He then looked down at his shoulder, running his hand over the bandages, wrapping a finger around the loose end of the tie-off. "Thank you for taking me with you. I promise I shan't be any more of a burden on your journey."

"As long as you don't sprain an ankle along the way, I think we'll be fine," Rydia came back with her own waggish line, to which Agleson couldn't help but laugh. She then reached for the bolt waiting patiently on the table, lifting it gently into the warm glow of the lantern for a closer observation of the inscription. She studied it meticulously with her eyes, even grazing a finger over the carved lines as if the sense of touch would trigger a memory, something that would give her the answers she needed. She then flipped the arrowhead to see if the same rune was etched on the opposing face, but was greeted with an even more surprising sight. A familiar coat of arms, one that she knew she had seen in the underworld at some point during her travels through dwarven villages. It consisted of a heater shield, emblazoned with chevrons of alternating light and dark over two crossed swords, and a horned, hemispherical helmet sitting atop the shield. Perched on the helmet with wings spread wide was the crest a dark dragon. Her eyes were alight with excitement, her breath caught in her lungs…she finally had a clue!

"What is it?" Agleson asked, noticing Rydia's startled posture.

"There is a clan coat of arms on this side of the arrowhead…it's dwarven," she replied with newly stirred enthusiasm. "The people of Agart are descendents of underworld dwarves that made their way to the surface through ancient tunnels long before the junction at the Northern Crater Pass was ever formed. This could help us find out who Philip is working with, and possibly how they've infiltrated the kingdom. They must have found one of the ancient tunnels when they were mining the mountains around the castle!"

"I think I know what village it is," Agleson responded with a measure of alarm. Rydia looked at him quizzically, as he hadn't even seen the crest. "Do you remember Philip's full title? It was in the letter you received tonight."

"Philip of Tomera!" Rydia was finding it hard to contain her excitement as pieces of the puzzle seemed to be coming together. But then she felt a sense of deflation, as she didn't recognize the dark dragon as a crest of any Tomeran clan. "But this can't be. There are no dragons in the underworld, so it makes little sense for a dwarven clan to herald a creature of which they have no knowledge."

"That, milady, might be the key to unlocking this little puzzle box in which we've found ourselves," Agleson responded with a bit of defeat in his voice. He didn't know enough of the underworld history, and certainly didn't know as much as Rydia. If she was stumped, he had no chance. "Is there anyone in Baron who might be able to help?"

"Cid…" she spoke the name that brought back fond memories of a warm-hearted beard of a man. While it was a long-shot, she knew that the engineer had spent time with King Giott during his recovery in the dwarven stronghold. Perhaps he had perused the libraries there to glean some intimate family history concerning his ancestors. "He's the only person I know who has any detailed knowledge of the dwarves and their culture. He became fascinated by them during the war when we first discovered the underworld, and spent a great deal of time under their care when he was gravely injured at the junction."

"It seems we are at an impasse, for now," Agleson concluded, to which Rydia reluctantly nodded in agreement. She wanted to figure this out sooner, rather than later, but without the proper resources it would be a hopeless mind game. "Let's get some rest, it has been a trying night for both of us."

"Yes, I think that would be best," Rydia agreed, laying the bolt back on the nightstand, finally giving in to the fatigue that was clawing at her. She unpinned the ruby broach from her dress, the chocobo feathers still holding tight, and laid it upon the table as well, glancing at it with a smile. She then stood to take off her dress, but quickly caught herself before revealing anything to the bard. She smiled sweetly at him as she directed him to turn around with her finger. "If you don't mind."

"Of course," Agleson responded, laying down on the bed and rolling over to face the opposing wall. He could still hear the sound of the silken fabrics unraveling around her skin, and his imagination ran wild. The sound of the dress hitting the floor was almost enough to break his will, but he managed to remain a decent gentleman until she was under the linen sheets of her bed, the lightest creak of the wood frame as her delicate figure laid upon it.

"Okay, as you were, my good gentleman," she said with a giggle, setting him free from the torture of his mind's eye. He rolled over and saw her settling in, the sheet draped just below her neck as she lay on her side facing him, the curls of her hair cascading down the side of the bed. The light of the lantern bathed her in a warm glow.

"May I ask you something? About what you said at the banquet tonight?" Agleson asked with sincerity. Rydia was used to having a late night tete-a-tete with Agleson, as it had become a daily ritual over the past week of getting to know one another. Despite her languor tugging at her eyelids, she enjoyed these moments, and forced her tired mind to engage in the conversation.

"Certainly," she replied, trying not to sound too sleepy.

"It can wait until tomorrow," Agleson offered. Apparently Rydia's attempts to cover up her exhaustion were quite transparent.

"No no, please, I would like to end this night with some normalcy," Rydia admitted. "Our nightly routine has provided me much comfort in my short time here. Let's talk."

"Alright, but if I catch you sleeping, I cannot promise that a pillow will not land upon your head," Agleson said, to which Rydia just smiled with a nod of affirmation. Agleson slipped off his shoes and slid himself under his sheets before removing the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Once he settled in they were like a mirror to each other, the space of only an arm's length between their beds. "You mentioned that the spirits of the underworld have their own…shall I say, malfeasants. How are these spirits handled in the Summoned Lands?"

"Well, that's a long story, so the abridged version may have to do for now," Rydia said, hinting that she had little energy to expound on the ancient history of the Summoned Land. "When the planet was first formed, the spirits were born with it. They molded the land, formed the oceans, gave birth to the diversity of life we see today. But, just as light can give way to darkness, there were spirits with good intentions, and others with more iniquitous ambitions. To the great fortune of all of our lives, the spirits of light won a great war with the spirits of darkness. While the spirits are immortal, they can be rendered powerless and weak. The spirits of light were able to seal them away in a place deep beneath the Village of the Summoned Spirits, known as the Black City. If a spirit becomes corrupted, it is the duty of all others to bring them to the Black City, where only King Leviathan himself can open the gates. It is not something that happens often, for it is well known that once you enter the Black City, there is no return."

"That is quite the incentive to remain decent," Agleson said with astonishment. "So no corrupted spirits have discovered a way to escape the Black City?"

"There was one that managed to escape, but not for very long," Rydia answered, seeing a great pique of interest in Agleson's eyes. It gave her a thrill to see him so excited. "The spirit was called Shin-Ra, which Leviathan once told me means Demon God. As the name suggests, Shin-Ra was a very powerful dark spirit, and perhaps the only rival to King Leviathan. Some of the lesser spirits confessed to me that had it not been for the intervention of the Goddess Bahamut in the war, the world would likely be a very different place today."

"That's incredible! So what happened? How did Shin-Ra escape?"

"The only way that a dark spirit can escape from the Black City is if it called forth by a powerful Summoner, one with only spiteful convictions," Rydia explained. "According to our people's history, only one Summoner ever pursued such a path. That person, whose name has since been lost in the wake of time, was able to call Shin-Ra from the Black City. The Summoner was too weak to control it, however, and shortly after Shin-Ra erupted from the skies above, it vanished."

"And now you are the only Summoner left in this world," Agleson said sadly. "I'm sorry, Rye Rye, I didn't mean that to…"

"It's okay, Agleson," Rydia reassured the bard, seeing that he was worried about bringing up painful memories for her. "I came to terms with the fate of my people a long time ago. I shed no more tears for something that I can never change."

"Have you ever returned to Mist?" Agleson pried gently.

"Once, with King Cecil and Queen Rosa after the war," Rydia answered softly. "They offered to help rebuild the village, but again, it made no sense to me. I had already left that life behind, and had a new family, a new place that I called home. Mist will always be where I am from, but it is no longer my home."

"You amaze me more every day that I spend with you," Agleson confessed with a smile. "I think you might be the strongest person I know, and I have met a great deal of people in my travels."

"Thank you," Rydia whispered.

"Let's end with a happy thought," Agleson suggested. "Tell me about your first meeting with your childhood friend. Chobi is his name?"

"Yes, that's right," Rydia answered, though her tone wasn't necessarily happy. Agleson worried that he had inadvertently gone the opposite direction he had intended. "As a young summoner I really didn't have the ability to call any of the underworld spirits. Chobi actually came to me on his own."

"So spirits can actually enter our world without being called?"

"Only the spirits of light," Rydia assured him. "They come in many forms, and can often provide comfort or support to those who need it most. Chobi came to me after my father died."

"I'm so sorry…" Agleson felt about as small as could be, as he had now dredged up another emotional memory.

"It's okay, really," Rydia continued to smile as convincingly as possible, trying to keep Agleson from feeling worse. "I tried to be strong at first, tried to show my mother that I could handle the trauma. But I was just a child. I was ignorant of the natural need for the soul to grieve. After his funeral I simply lost control of my emotions and ran into the fields outside the village to cry. As I sat amongst a meadow of daisies, tears leaking through my fingers as I wept into my hands, I felt a surge of warm energy run through me. It beckoned me to look up, and when I did there was this innocent, yellow-feathered face staring back at me. I thought I should be scared, but I wasn't. A part of me realized that he was there for me. I stood up and touched his beak, and he bowed to me, as if inviting me to climb up. I was a small child then, so I could cling to his neck with ease, and he lifted me into the air and we rode through the fields until the sun set over the mountains. My mother told me that the first spirit that you summon is always the strongest bond, and he has always watched over me. He is my best friend."

"I should like to meet him some day," Agleson said. Rydia beamed at him from across the lantern's luster.

"I would like that very much," Rydia answered. The silence that ensued was peaceful, a silence of understanding. The sounds of lapping waves on the hull of the vessel were tempting their eyes to shut them away from the world.

"Shall we call it a night?"

"Yes," Rydia replied, watching the shadow of Agleson's arm creep across the floor as he reached for the valve to shut the flow of oil to the lamp.

"Goodnight, Rye Rye," Agleson said as the flame flickered and went out with a puff.

"Goodnight, Agleson."

The room was filled with shadow, the ears the only trustworthy sense of what was happening around them. Agleson rolled onto his back, staring at the nothingness, feeling waves of exhaustion beating down on him in rhythm with the waves upon the ship. He knew his sleep would be deep and replenishing, having spent many nights on vessels such as these. But this night, he was not prepared for the sound of sheets sliding across the bed next to his, the squeak of a floorboard underfoot, and the warm skin that slipped into the bed with him. He was dumbstruck at the feeling of her body pressing against his, her arm wrapping around his chest, her cheek resting gently on his good shoulder. Unable to find the ability to move his body, he went for the only defense he had against such a surprise.

"Am I allowed one more joke?" Agleson asked.

"Just hush up and hold me," she whispered to the hairs of his skin.

And held her he did. They fell asleep in each other's arms, and they slept so deeply, so fully, that neither had any dreams to rouse them until the morning came. The waves rolled on without a stir, the storms passed overhead unheeded, and along with the refreshing morning sunrise the two travelers began their renascent journey together.

 


	9. Kain's Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kain finally hears the voice of reason while on Mt. Ordeals.

The sun was rising on the eastern ocean horizon, its circumfusing light reaching out to warm the crisp morning air hanging over the western peak of Mount Ordeals. The Lunarian shrine stood as a stalwart vault atop the summit, an implacable edifice that held secrets only a few would ever know, and which many died in fruitless attempts to retrieve. Laid out before this small structure were four large, perfectly beveled stone slabs neatly arranged in two rows, creating an aisle leading to an arched doorway that had been sealed. No discernable features on the door gave any clue to how it could be opened, or if the seal could even be broken. Each stone slab resembled a sarcophagus lain flat before the shrine, littered with intricate carvings of symbols that meant nothing to any human that had traveled here. Many surmised they were instructions on how to pass through the sealed door, but this was a theory that had never seen a true test by any mortal. This mattered little to the man kneeling in silent meditation before the shrine, however. The reflection of a thousand suns glistened in the drops of condensation scattered about his armor as he sat like a blue-steel statue, a guardian spirit of this holy tomb.

Kain had spent many mornings just like this. Resting on his knees, spear laid before him, hands perched on his thighs, helmet at his side. His hair wisped about his brow as his head bowed before the vault that he assumed held his answers, eyes shut to the world around him, focusing on the voice. It was a quiet whisper, something that he hadn't heard in the two years he had spent in self-imposed isolation here until very recently. The words were still unintelligible, but they were certainly there, and they could only be heard when he was in the presence of the shrine. He knew not what it meant, but he was sure that he would learn in the abundance of time he afforded himself here. In his heart, he hoped that it meant he was close to finding the absolution he was so desperately seeking, that the light residing within had finally noticed his presence.

His face was well worn from his travels here on the mountain, the creases in his brow, the bristled stubble about his cheeks, the small spatters of dried blood from his countless encounters with undead and predatory creatures stalking him through the passes. While he was indelibly hardened on the outside, the thickness of the stone walls around his stubborn heart were showing signs of breaching. Seeing his old friend in Mysidia had dislodged a cornerstone of the fortress he had built around his emotions, and it threatened to release a piece of himself he was not prepared to face. He still carried the letter he had written the evening prior in the small purse satchel tied around his waist, wedged between a bottle of elixir and a flask of whiskey. While he told himself he was intent on leaving the letter with a courier to give to Cecil during his next trip into town, the part of him that dared escape his emotional bastion cried for him to confront this issue head on, to finally give his friend the respect of an audience.

"Cecil…" Kain whispered to a cool breeze, the warm breath of his words rushing from his mouth in a small plume of condensation before evanescing into nothingness. The name itself was hard to say without disrupting the peace of his meditation, and it wasn't long before it began to draw him out of his peaceful contemplation. He strained to regain his focus, but his mind began struggling with the thought of confronting Cecil and how he didn't feel that he had attained the answers that would prepare him to do so. The circular logic of his thinking eluded him, leaving him feeling frustrated and weak, which typically led him quickly to anger. But this day he was not afforded the time to reach the conclusion of his mental contention before a sound brought his focus to a fine point of fixation.

He dared not open his eyes, allowing his warrior's sense to guide his visualization of what lurked nearby. Through rapid analysis of sounds and smells, even small changes in the wind, he could tell with great accuracy just what trespassers moved in his immediate surroundings. This ability had been honed to a level far beyond his training in the Order of the Dragon in the time he had spent on this mountain, and it had kept him alive thus far. A part of him relished the wild nature of it, the connection with the environment that most people took for granted. The sound that had disturbed him would have easily been overlooked by someone with even slightly less training, but Kain felt the shift in the eddies that whipped off the eastern peak, the slight groan of the rope tether on the western side, and the smell of a wood that was different from the planks of the bridge. In his mind, he saw a traveler with a wooden staff, a figure that was rather small or light in weight, possibly female, and definitely alone. He felt no threat from this presence, as it seemed to stride steadily, unlike a predator's careful approach, and lacking the irregular shuffling gait of the undead.

"Good morning to you, Sir Knight," came the voice of an old man, sounding a bit gruff, but strangely cheery. Kain did not open his eyes or respond in any way to this intruder on his morning meditation. It was not common, but he had run into travelers hiking the mountain in search of some greater purpose in their lives before, mostly mages from Mysidia that wanted the power that the great sage Tellah had received here, or simply wanted to feel the touch of the divine upon their souls. They were often too engrossed in their own ambitions to heed his warnings of the dangers here, and he eventually gave up trying to convince them to turn back. Their carcasses littered the crags and spires unapologetically jutting out of the mountain passes. This would be the first to have successfully reached the summit since he had claimed the mountain as his new home. He heard the soft footsteps of sandaled feet, followed by the clunk of his staff on the stone, even catching the sound of the old man's robes grazing the ground. "I don't suppose you're trying to enter the shrine, are you?"

Kain remained motionless, even as the man continued to approach, taking a seat very close to him on one of the large stone slabs. Kain heard the sigh of relief from the old man, clearly weary after a long hike up the mountain, followed by the sound of a gourd lifted to his mouth to drink from it. Silence pervaded the air between them for a moment as the old man caught his breath, laying the gourd upon the ground as he took in the view from the summit. The sun had risen fully over the ocean, detaching its glowing disc from the edge of the sea. The scattered cirrus clouds that had once been ignited in red were slowly fading to white.

"Quite a beautiful sight, isn't it?" the old man asked, clearly not taking the hint that Kain was in no mood for conversation. The only clue that Kain was alive was the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath that he took, which was apparently enough for this man to continue. "I don't think I've ever seen it quite as clear as this morning. You can almost see the Tower of Babil peaking over the horizon. Have you ventured there in your travels, Sir Knight?"

"Leave me be," Kain finally gave in with a calm but firm dismissal. He had lost the voices that had spoken to him before, this unwanted distraction having drawn him away from his meditative state.

"Ah, the strong but silent type, I see," the old man replied with a chuckle, which only irked Kain even more. "Tell me, Kain, what is it that you hope to find here?"

The mention of his name caused his eyes to finally open, alarmed apprehension crossing his face as he turned to finally look the man in the eye. He saw a weathered grin surrounded by a full, disheveled white beard, and a large, crooked nose tucked firmly between a pair of half-circle, gold-rimmed glasses. Behind the spectacles were warm, wise eyes, and the wrinkles to suggest an accomplished and exhaustive lifetime. His white linen robes enwreathed him from neck to toe, and a red, dome-shaped cap barely contained the frazzle of white hair atop his head. His staff was carved of rich, dark heartwood swirling from a large, rounded bulb at the top to a blunt tip at the end. Etched all about the spiraling wood were magical runes, suggesting that the man was a gifted wizard.

"Do I know you?" Kain asked with a cold tone that suggested the old man should make his next words very concise. The wizard's smile never waned as he looked over the rim of his glasses to meet Kain's icy stare.

"I don't suspect so, but I know you well enough," he responded, not nearly with the clarity Kain had hoped for. "I have seen you many times in my travels to this shrine over the years."

"Then why have I not seen you until this day?" Kain asked irritably. If a wizard had been traveling this mountain for years, he would have certainly noticed. Very little escaped his attention here, as he had become so hyperaware of his environment in his search for even the smallest disturbance, any hint that he was getting closer to finding the light.

"Perhaps because you have not truly been looking until now," the wizard replied, the cryptic nature of his words shortening Kain's fuse just a little bit more. The old man could see he was getting under his skin, and so decided to provide at least one piece of concrete information. "Erasmus, the All Knowing, is my name."

"Never heard of you," Kain came back quickly, breaking his stare with the man as if signaling that he was finished with the conversation. He looked out upon the horizon as it split between the sparkling ocean and the flat blue sky, two halves in contrasting harmony.

"No, I don't suppose you have, considering I've been dead for nearly five hundred years," he replied with a laugh. The words once again caused Kain's eyes to focus on the man sitting beside him. This time with a look of impatience that was nearing the breaking point.

"I find it hard to believe that the undead could be so well-spoken," said Kain, his eyes trying to bore through what he could only perceive as a lie that was being handed to him. "If you have any words of truth to relay then I suggest you say them or be gone. I have no time to entertain the fantastical imaginations of delusional mages."

"Well said, good Sir!" Erasmus responded, more excited than Kain would have predicted, pushing his patience a little further towards the cliff. "You are here because you are looking for something, no? Tell me, Kain, in the two years that you have forced yourself upon this quest, why are you still empty handed? Does that tell you nothing?"

That was the last shove to send Kain over the edge. He stood quickly, to which Erasmus stood as well, as Kain walked over to reach for the scruff of his robes. To his surprise, his hand reached cleanly through the old man's chest, his fingers wrapping around nothing but air. His eyes went wide as the old man continued to smile just the same.

"You _are_ stubborn, boy," Erasmus said before quickly taking advantage of Kain's stupor by swinging the end of his staff into the back of Kain's knee, dropping him to kneel at his feet. In nearly the same instant, the bulbous end of the staff was then swiftly brought down on the back of Kain's head, sending him face first into the stone, unconscious.

When Kain came to, he could feel the sun's heat on his back through his armor, radiating like an oven. His eyes opened to a squint as his vision slowly came into focus, stars darting in every direction until all he could see was the gray rock face that his cheek was pressed firmly against. He moved his palms to the ground and pushed himself up on a knee, feeling the blood rush from the welt on the back of his head as he righted himself, sending a searing pain shooting through his skull. One hand quickly clamped around the top of his head as he steadied himself with the other.

"You look like you could use a drink," the old man's voice rang in his head like a cannon. With a grimace that would send most men cowering, Kain looked over at the wizard still sitting on the stone slab, holding out the flask that had been in his satchel. "I tried a bit myself, and I must say it is the finest I've tasted in quite some time. Single-malt Baronian whiskey, no?"

Kain waved the man's offering away with a swat of his hand before pushing himself back on his feet, stumbling back a few steps before sitting on the stone slab across from him. Still glowering, Kain took a few moments to collect himself and assess his next move with this strange mage who was now taking a healthy swig from the flask. He could feel the burn on his cheek, the warmth of blood filling the bruised skin, the dried blood streaked in three distinct scratch lines, a similar pattern left on the stone where his face lay just moments ago.

"So, are you ready to talk?" Erasmus asked, his tone a bit more serious than before. Kain's scowl eased into a sigh of exhaustion at the man's insistency on speaking. Kain reached down for his helmet and spear before standing and moving to pass the man sitting before him. Erasmus stretched out his staff across Kain's path. "I would advise against that, lest you want a scar on the other cheek?"

"I have nothing to say to you, old man," Kain said harshly, making no attempt to hide his disdain for the wizard. Erasmus finally returned the sentiment with a cold stare.

"You and I are going to have this conversation whether you like it or not, boy. So sit down," Erasmus was no longer chuckling or smiling, and Kain felt in his bones a chill that he could only imagine was being generated by the man's magic. It was rare for Kain to feel fear, and he wasn't sure if that was what this was, but he was not ready to give in. He stood defiant to the wizard's wishes, which only caused Erasmus's brow to furrow more deeply as a few of the runes on his staff began to glow, and the cold began to spread through Kain's body. "Sit. Down."

Kain finally responded by reluctantly stepping back to his seat on the stone slab, laying his helmet and spear on the ground before him. He knew enough of mages to know when he was under an enchantment, which meant he was already dead if the man so wished. This left him in a very precarious position, as the only way to ensure his own life would be to take the life of the mage in a preemptive strike, which he had no chance of taking at the moment. So he obeyed.

"Fine, let's talk," Kain grunted, not at all happy about his situation. But if he could satisfy this wizard's curiosity then it would get him back to his meditation that much sooner. He felt the cold release from his bones, and the sun's glare warmed him quickly. The two men sat facing each other atop the mountain, the Lunarian shrine standing over them like a sentry.

"Let's start with why you are here," Erasmus said, looking across the space between them with strong, yet gentle eyes. Kain let out another sigh of irritation at the pestering question.

"If I knew the answer to that question then I wouldn't be here," Kain responded snidely. He was caught off-guard when Erasmus actually broke into a smile at this.

"Let me rephrase," Erasmus continued, seeing that prying into Kain's head was going to take some time and maneuvering. "Why do you come to kneel before this shrine every morning, waiting in silence for something that will never come?"

"How did you…?" Kain was clearly frustrated that this man knew so much, and he was beginning to wonder if the man could see into his mind, a thought that plucked a small string of trepidation deep within. "Who are you?"

"As I said before, my name is Erasmus, the All Knowing," the man responded. "If I didn't know everything about you then I wouldn't be so deserving of the moniker, now would I?"

"Then you already know why I'm here," Kain shot back, not giving in to the mind games. He had already let himself fall into that trap once in his life, and he had steeled himself against such attempts on enslaving his mind in the future. He assumed a position of confident defiance, arms folded across his chest as he continued. "So then maybe I should be asking _you_ why we are here?"

"Clever boy," Erasmus said with a chuckle as he took one last pull from the flask before securing the lid and laying it on the corner of the stone slab where he was sitting. "Indeed I have the answers you seek, but it is not my place to simply give them to you. So if you would only lay down your stubborn pride as you do your spear then maybe we can get you on with your life."

"Then shall we set up a proper exchange of information? Truth for truth?" Kain offered, hoping to learn more of his man, gathering any intelligence that might give him an advantage.

"An honest discourse would be delightful," Erasmus responded, still smiling. "I'll even let you begin with the first question."

"You said you've been dead for nearly five hundred years," Kain began. "How did your spirit come to haunt this place?"

"Excellent question!" Erasmus exclaimed, stamping his staff on the ground with excitement. "As you noticed I am not of the corporeal world, my form is but a breath of what I once was. When I was still of flesh and blood, I was the Magus of Mysidia, what you today refer to as the Elder. I had a gift, a clairvoyant ability that allowed me to sense the machinations of the world around me, to understand everything that led the world into its present state, hence my title. But there was one thing I could never figure out, and that is what lies inside this shrine. It drove me mad, to have the ability to know everything except this one thing. I never deciphered these inscriptions, never learned how to break the seal to this door. I knew that it was not of this world, that a being from the moon had built it for some reason, but the secrets inside always eluded me. My only recourse was to leave my body, whose skin and bones could not pass through, and to enter as a spirit being. To do this was the ultimate sacrifice, however. Once the spirit leaves the body, it cannot return. But I had no choice."

"So you've seen what's inside, then?" Kain asked, finding himself a bit intrigued with the story.

"Is that another question? I believe it's my turn, no?" Erasmus said wryly, amused at the irritation he could see it bring out in Kain's face. "Why have you come to Mount Ordeals?"

"If you already know then why do you ask?" Kain replied with exasperation, holding out a hand as if begging for truth, unconsciously shifting his body to a more receptive position as he leaned forward with an elbow propped against his thigh.

"What I know is not important," Erasmus responded more seriously this time. "What _is_ important is making sure that _you_ know why you are here. So allow me to ask a different way. Out of all the places to which you could have retreated from the world after the war, what led you here?"

"This place…it has given others what they need to make peace with themselves," Kain responded succinctly, clearly choosing his words carefully. But Erasmus could see a slow release, as Kain stared at the ground lost in a thought, the thought of whether or not his peace would ever truly be attainable.

"Does it? How so?" Erasmus prodded a bit more.

"My…friend, Cecil," Kain stuttered a bit, still unsure if he had any right to refer to him that way. "During the war he came here to shed his soul of darkness, to gain the power of light to destroy the evil that threatened this world. The great sage Tellah also received the power that he believed he needed to defeat Golbez and avenge his daughter. It was here that each of them found the answers they needed in their most desperate times."

"I see," Erasmus spoke gently. "And you find this to be your most desperate time? Is this struggle within you so great that you seek the hallowed light to settle it?"

"Are you saying that my struggle is not worthy of this cause?" Kain replied sharply, his eyes suddenly focused on the mage's aged face with vexation. Behind this outburst, however, lay the worry that his own words rang true, that he had made a mistake in coming here. Or worse, that he simply did not deserve the answer.

"Is that your question?" Erasmus asked, still with a kind smile. Kain was irked that the man had manipulated his line of questioning, but at the same time he was strangely drawn to the man's counsel, feeling like he was in the presence of an old mentor as a fledgling knight. Most of all, he wanted to know the truth. With a sigh of frustration he nodded at the wizard to allow him to continue. "Your struggles are your own, Kain, they are not the problems of the world. Why should the power of this shrine bestow upon you something it has no imperative to give? Especially when it is something you already have? What you are seeking is not a cleansing of your soul, or the power to destroy a great evil. It is something much simpler than that."

"You dare call my life simple?" Kain's irritancy flared for a brief moment, but he was quick to tuck it away. It was a gut reaction that he knew he needed to temper, but the Erasmus had inadvertently jabbed a tender spot, for nothing about his life seemed simple to him. Everything that had led him to this point was a convoluted web of lies, mistrust, and manipulation, in which he felt hopelessly tangled. His time on the mountain had given him focus, but it had not given him a way out. "Do you think me a fool for even being here?"

"I did not say that. You mustn't twist my words," the wizard pleaded firmly, a stern look drawn on his face. "I am not here to mock your attempts at salvation, for your strife is very real, and it obviously means a great deal to you. Your time here will serve its own purpose, but I only wish to help you see that what you need is already within you. It only requires your own strength to unlock it, not that of a higher power. If you let this struggle become you, then you will never be free."

"So then what do you suggest I do?" Kain tried to sneak an extra question into this side of the conversation, but he could tell by the smile that suddenly stretched out on the old man's face that he was caught.

"I believe it is my turn to ask the question," said Erasmus, wasting no time to get on with his own agenda. "During the war you betrayed your friends, your greatest allies, and tainted your soul with the evil that you now so detest. If you were forgiven for your sins, would you at last be at peace?"

"Forgiveness is not something you simply ask for. It must be earned," Kain responded.

"I agree, but your return to your allies in the great battle on the moon must have earned you something? And how will you ever know what you've earned if you never dare to ask?"

"I…" Kain struggled to find a way to parry this mental thrust. "I do not believe that I have been forgiven. My actions after being freed of Golbez's manipulation were the least I could do to make up for my betrayal, but it is not enough."

"So what _is_ enough?"

"I believe it's my question," Kain broke in, finally feeling like he had regained some control of the conversation. "Why have I not seen you until this day? You say you travel this mountain regularly, and have been for quite some time. Why come to me now?"

"Fair enough," Erasmus conceded with a grin. "As a spirit, I choose when to be seen. I have, indeed, chosen this time for a reason. You are needed by more than you know, Kain. Your friend Cecil, down in the village, needs you. I cannot tell you why, and do not ask, for you will learn that on your own in time. What I can tell you is that you and your friends will be called upon very soon to face another great evil. What I know is that if you decide to remain on this mountain, the world will suffer for it."

"How can you know this?" Kain was shocked at the admission.

"Need I say my name again?"

"Right," Kain replied. "But surely my presence will not dictate the fate of the world? There is no way that you could foresee such events."

"You are correct in that I cannot actually see the future," Erasmus confessed. "But when I look at the world, I see the parts and pieces of a great machine working in unison to push life forward. I have learned over the centuries to take what I see and formulate predictions, many of which have followed through with great accuracy. So no, nothing is set in stone, but your actions on this day will determine a great deal of future events, I assure you."

"But what if…" Kain felt his inner turmoil bubbling to the surface at the thought of his return. That string that Erasmus had plucked earlier was still vibrating, stirring the memories of his deception. "I still feel as though a part of me carries the evil that Golbez was able to twist so easily. I cannot risk exposing anyone to that again."

"So you hide yourself away to protect them?" Erasmus pried. "Those are noble intentions, however misguided."

"And how can I be sure you are not manipulating me now?" Kain asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the prospect. For the first time in their conversation, Erasmus was silent. His face took on an appearance that Kain had not seen yet, a look of sadness. It was strange, but Kain actually felt something for the old man, as though he knew that he was here to help. He couldn't shake his defensiveness at the thought of losing control of his mind again, but he realized that he already felt surprisingly lighter just by having the conversation. By getting this all out in the open, he felt his burden was no longer quite as heavy on his shoulders. He surprised himself when he realized he wanted more.

"You have every right not to trust me, Kain," Erasmus replied with sorrow. "Perhaps coming to you like this was a mistake. If you wish to end this conversation now then I will oblige, and you will never see me again."

"No…" Kain spoke anxiously. "I…I believe this is helping. If I am indeed needed, then I will do what it takes to release myself from my past."

"I think you are farther along than you realize," Erasmus said, perking up a bit at Kain's offer to remain in the conversation. "For your perseverance I give you the next question."

There was a long pause, as the blue-steeled knight searched for the question that hounded him more than any other. The cool breeze tickled his ears, lifted a hint of fresh pine from the forest below, as he turned his head to lay his eyes upon the shrine, still adamantly refusing any acknowledgement of his existence. It seemed less magnificent now, more forbidding and ingenuous, as though he was seeing it for what it was. This brought forth a single overwhelming question to the top of the pile, and Kain returned his gaze to the spirit sitting across from him.

"Why am I here?" Kain asked, to which Erasmus lit up with excitement.

"You are beginning to see, I think," Erasmus replied, his energetic smile returning. "You are here because you have built a wall around your heart, a wall of pride. This has served you well as a warrior, but it is your greatest enemy when dealing with your guilt and it only bolsters your inability to rebuild trust with those closest to you. You are here because the part of you that knows better cannot break through this barrier. This is not something you will ever achieve on this mountain, because the answer is not here. It was never here. The answer is in those that need you most, which you allowed to escape if only for a moment in the letter you wrote to Cecil."

"You were there…" Kain realized that he was likely never truly alone on this mountain, that Erasmus had watched over him during his time here. He found it surprisingly comforting.

"Do you see? The letter is but a symbol of your struggle, and your want to be free of it. To actually face the struggle you must be willing to confront it."

"So I must…ask for forgiveness?" Kain pondered the simplicity of such an action, wondering if it could really free him of his burden. But the more he thought about it, the less simple it seemed. He had hurt so many people during the war, left them without making any offer of amends, no atonement for his actions. To lay all of this out at their feet would take a significant toll, and he was beginning to realize that isolating himself had only caused that burden to grow, not lessen.

"Having the strength to ask is one thing. Having the strength to accept the answer is another," said Erasmus. "As you said, it must be earned from those you betrayed, but ultimately…" he paused to fix a firm gaze on the dragon knight, frozen in a state of introspection, "…you must ask yourself for forgiveness."

"How could I ever forgive myself?" Kain asked, his eyes glistening with uncertainty. He had never allowed himself the thought of accepting what he had done, of just letting go of the pain. Such a proposition seemed untenable.

"That, my boy, is a question I dare not answer," Erasmus spoke firmly. "If you are ever to truly free yourself of this burden, you will need to do it without my hand. But there are others that are more than willing to guide you, others that care a great deal for you."

"Cecil…" Kain whispered the name once again, this time feeling the hole in the wall around his heart widen, a clear view through to the other side. The light he was seeking was not on this mountain, it was in the man he had once called a brother in arms.

"I believe you now have your answers," Erasmus said with a confident smile as he stood from the stone slab, tapping his staff on the ground as he ambled over towards the shrine.

"Wait!" Kain was not ready to abort the conversation just yet. "How do I do this? How do you know I am ready for this?"

"My name, again?"

"But…" Kain was looking for something that would keep the debate going, feeling that he could relieve so much more of his burden if given more time. "How do _I_ know I'm ready for this?"

"Do you remember why I told you that I became a spirit?" Erasmus interrupted with a seemingly unrelated question, sending Kain's thoughts into a mild tailspin as he tried to recall the story.

"You wanted to enter the shrine, to learn the secrets inside," Kain answered, a bit confused at the train of thought.

"When I shed my body, I was already on the brink of madness. I had been shunned by my people, excommunicated from my life in Mysidia, and I had no regrets. I was not unlike you, stubborn to the end. But I knew my reward would be great." Erasmus was looking at the doorway to the shrine, never glancing back at the Dragon Knight listening intently to the story. "So when I approached this door, I heard voices. I knew that it meant something, that it meant I was being beckoned into this sanctuary. When I stepped through the stone I was expecting the answers to flood through me, to finally make the collection of knowledge in my mind whole. But what I saw when I stepped through the door was simply the outside of the other side of the shrine, as though I had passed through it completely. It was then that I realized I was never meant to know its secrets, and that the great fallacy of my life would forever be known by those that aimlessly wandered this mountain, searching for answers that never existed."

"So you never…" Kain began to see what the old man was telling him. He could not allow himself to be a waste upon the world in search of something that he would never find here. He might never forgive himself, but he now understood that if he could find the strength in himself to ask—if he could will himself to be a better person—that it might be enough to set him free. He knew now that his quest for absolution had truly begun. He was under no illusions that this would be easy—he knew this would still be a tough road to forge—but at least now the path was clear. He felt immeasurably lighter, as though his mind had just shed a great haze, the clarity of a new vision filling his eyes. "Thank you, Erasmus."

"You are a good person, Kain," Erasmus told the Dragon Knight, turning to give him a warm smile. "You must realize that. You have suffered long enough."

"Will I see you again?"

"Perhaps in the next life," the wizard chuckled. "As for this one, I hope we do not meet again, for it would mean our progress here was for naught."

"Then I am to leave today?"

"Indeed. I have given you all I am willing. The rest is up to you."

Kain finally stood up, bending down to grab his helmet and spear. When he looked up again, the old man was gone, only the wisp of wind tickling the hairs on his face. He smiled as he donned his helm, looking over to the stone slab where Erasmus had been sitting, noticing the flask of whiskey still perched on the corner. He decided to leave it for him, no longer feeling the need to ease his mind with its toxic contents. With one last glance at the shrine, he remembered the voices he heard earlier that morning. They were still there, but had now become much clearer. He closed his eyes to focus on the words, noticing quickly that it was a short string repeated on a loop. When he finally comprehended the message, he opened his eyes with a renewed purpose, possessed by an overwhelming desire to push fervently into the western horizon.

 


	10. Shadow Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dark entity plays its game, and a new threat to the world is unveiled.

The man walked calmly, but with purpose down the cold stone hallway, dimly lit by the haunting glow of scattered torches. The ebony threads of his robes contrasted sharply with his pale skin, or what could be seen of it beneath the shade of his hood: a strong jaw that ended with a dimpled chin; thin lips that were almost blue, as if the blood had drained from them; the tip of a rounded nose that seemed to have seen its share of tavern brawls. Beyond that was an empty void, the only hint of anything human was a twinkle of torchlight that crawled across his eyes as he walked by. With a towering stature, he easily dwarfed the two Agartian sentinels that framed a rough-hammered steel door as he approached, the long shadow thrown from his body like an extension of his cloak. He stopped before them respectfully, despite knowing full well that with the flick of his hand and a whispered word he could render them lifeless. As much as it would please him, he was not ready to commit to the destruction of these people, not when they still had so much they could do for him. The guards remained vigilant, waiting patiently for the man's commands.

"I will see the prisoner," the figure cloaked in shadow ordered with a harrowing, unnatural voice. It defied explanation, but it seemed as though two souls were speaking at once. One voice, soft but strong, was clearly present, but beneath it was a deep, cold vibration. It may not have even been heard as much as it was felt in the shiver that ran down the spine as it reached into the mind. "You may go."

The guards didn't say a word, but each gave a nod of acknowledgement and left their post, the clink of their chain-link armor echoing down the halls until it was lost in the ambient howl of the wind through the stones. The man gazed at the door before him, pondered its existence, debating whether or not to tear it down with the forces he commanded. The mere thought that this world was allowed to prosper was sickening, and he would demolish it all had he only the power to do so. But that was why he was here. This power would take time to gather, and it was in this very castle that he had seen the potential to regain all that he had lost. For now he would play the game, manipulating the world through backdoor politics, as long as the curtains of coercion still blinded the ignorant fools here that greedily grasped for their material gains.

With a wave of his pale hand, like a ghost slipping from the sleeves of his robes, the sound of mechanical locks grinding through granite could be heard. One by one, the locks disengaged until the room fell silent once more. The man waved his hand a second time, and a rush of dank air poured out of the cell as the steel door slowly swung open, casting a pitiful beam of light to the back wall. It barely illuminated the skin of a man in ripped, blood-stained royal garments laying in a heap, his arms hanging outstretched from the chains fastened to the ceiling, held like a crucifix against the wall. As the man robed in shadow stepped through the doorway, the prisoner began to slowly come to attention, his head bobbing like a man either gone mad, or severely beaten. As his face finally lifted to the light, the dried blood streaking through his beard from the cuts upon his brow was clearly visible, the purple skin rising in thick welts upon his cheeks making him nearly unrecognizable. Only one eye could be easily opened, the other swelled shut, but the half-stare was enough to see the guilt that left him a pathetic remnant of the stone-faced warrior he had once been.

The shadow stopped a few paces away before reaching his hands up to his hood and pulling it down to his shoulders. Such a visage could never be exposed to just anyone, for the fear would overtake all but the most steeled, or those that devoted their life to his service. It was his eyes. His black, empty, inanimate eyes. Without pupils, iris, or sclera, it was impossible to ever ascertain his focal point, giving the impression that he was looking through his surroundings, looking through the world to its deep, dark core. They resembled flawless spheres of onyx, the only flecks of color in the reflections cast off their surface like a still pond on a moonless night. His strong jaw-line continued up to the prominent brow that sat over his lifeless eyes, the lack of hair anywhere about his head accenting the pale, bloodless skin. From a singular point on the back of his head writhed several thin, black dendrites, like veins filled with ichor grasping his skull, weaving a wicked web upon his crown. The man in chains did not flinch at the sight of him, as he had seen this face many times before, but there was still fear behind the one good eye.

"I have failed you, my Lord," Philip spoke with remorse, an uncharacteristic emotion for him that was plainly seen by the defeated look upon his face. He suddenly lost his courage to even look the man in the eye, staring disparately at the stone floor, the despondent chime of his chains filling the silence.

"Indeed, you have," said the shadow, the sickening pleasure in his voice reverberating off the stone.

"I could not foresee Ardwick's interference," said Philip. "His decision to risk his life for the summoner was unexpected."

"A failure would certainly say such things," the shadow spoke with malicious amusement. "But the bard's heroics were far from unexpected. Did you not see the connection they shared? Had you any insight into human emotion you would have made the necessary adjustments to our original plan. Now the summoner has escaped."

"My apologies, my Lord," Philip still could not bring his gaze to the man standing before him. "I will not fail you again."

"I should have known that such faithful service was but a sign of your weakness," the shadow continued. "But yours was a most magnificent failure, for your own flesh and blood has betrayed you."

"What?!" Philip was shocked, looking up at the man with his eye wide and white.

"I found it rather amusing, actually," the man in darkness continued, the slightest smile edging into the corner of his mouth. "Here I was to assume that you would lead me to the power that I so desired. You were determined, a loyal follower. But then I realized that I didn't need loyalty. I needed someone with the same lust for power, someone that would not even let _me_ stand in their way if the opportunity presented itself."

"And I…" Philip was dumbstruck. He had believed that he simply failed at one task, albeit an important one, but now….now he was beginning to see that he had been played from the moment he brought this man into Hector's presence. "I was just a scapegoat?"

"When you first came to me in Tomera during your visits to study dwarven war strategy, your brother had already set in motion a plan to topple his greatest adversaries." The shadow began to pace back and forth across the small room, Philip's eye following with a self-loathing that grew with each word he heard. "I doubt you ever knew that he had sent spies to intercept King Cecil's treaty to the Mysidians. His cunning is admirable, keeping his own brother unaware of the plans we began crafting when you first brought me to this castle. His victory over the world's most powerful kingdom will bring me so much closer to what I need."

"How could I not see it?" Philip whispered between his teeth, as he began to seethe through the pain in his bruised cheeks.

"Because of your faith that my intentions aligned with those of your clan; that I would merely stop at sealing the breach between this world and the underworld," the man spoke fervently, interrupting his pacing to glare at Philip. "My ambitions go far beyond the segregation of these worlds. I intend to end them. The Followers of Shin-Ra are nothing more than expendable pawns to me, tools with which I shall exact my destruction of this wretched planet."

"But I can still be of service, my Lord!" Philip was near manic, fearing that he would be rejected by the god he worshipped before him. "Please Lord Shin-Ra, grant me the chance to rectify my errors! Have mercy!"

"You are not worthy of mercy," Shin-Ra replied coldly, turning away from the broken man chained to the wall. "But you are also not worthy of the quick release of death. You shall remain here, wallowing in your misery. If you should think of a more fitting penance, then you are welcome to make an offer."

"Let me be your vessel, my Lord!" Philip pleaded. Shin-Ra turned slowly, glaring from the abyss of his eyes.

"You think your pathetic soul could withstand my power?" the shadow spoke with quiet anger as he moved closer, leaning down to bring his eyes mere inches from Philip's sweat-ridden face. "Let me give you a taste, and we shall see how you feel."

Shin-Ra lifted his ghostly right hand, bringing it up to Philip's forehead. A red, glowing sigil was branded into his palm. When the rune made contact, a cold wind rushed through the cell and the torches outside extinguished in unison, leaving them both in endless darkness. The only sound was that of Philip's body convulsing as he tried desperately not to scream. But the pain quickly became unbearable, and the wails of a man near death soon burst through the hallways. Then the screaming stopped, the torches relit, and all that remained was Philip's limp body, still hanging pitifully from his chains, only the lightest crest of his chest proving that there was a small bit of life left in him. Shin-Ra had taken his right hand from Philip's head, but now lifted his left hand, and a white sigil burned hot on its palm. This time a warm, gentle breeze washed over the room, the light seemed to brighten, and Philip was engulfed in an empyrean aura. His eye suddenly shot open as he took in a deep breath before coughing in fits between gasps for air. When he finally regained control of his body, he was panting as though he had just been nearly drowned.

"How do you feel?" Shin-Ra asked with a most sinister grin, seeing in Philip's eye the fear of a man that had seen the edge of the abyss. He could see the tears streaming down his cheeks, mixing with what little fresh blood still existed on his skin in pink rivulets. "Had I taken you as my vessel, you would be nothing more than ashes. So perhaps you should feel very glad to still be alive."

"Please…my Lord," Philip whispered. "I beg of you, do not forsake me."

"You have left me little choice," Shin-Ra said as he stood up, turning away from Philip once again as he made his way towards the door. "Think upon your past mistake's if you must. It will do you no good. Should you find a way to prove yourself worthy, then I may at least be willing to release you from your mortal coil. For now, let the darkness be your consolation that you will not have to look upon yourself and see the wretch that you are."

Shin-Ra stepped out of the cell, his shadow cast long across the floor, creeping up Philip's body. His hand waved as it had before, and the door began to close. Philip began fighting the chains that held him in place, furiously standing with what little strength he had left as though he would give chase after his god. The pain and anger that coursed through him were not enough to break his bonds, as the light that came from the hallway was slowly enveloping him in shadows, their clawing fingers dragging him back to his solitary confinement. With one last burst of energy he wrestled with his restraints, to no avail. He watched Shin-Ra lift his hood back over his head as he continued down the hall, showing no signs of returning to his follower. Philip screamed in one last fit of desperation.

"DO NOT FORSAKE ME!"

But the words were drowned out by the door finally fitting securely into its resting place, the sound of locks shifting against the steel a final reminder that he was alone. With all of his strength draining quickly from him, he fell to his knees, arms lifted like a hopeless puppet to its strings. In the darkness, surrounded by the crush of shadow and penitence, he felt overwhelmed with a fear that he had never experienced, and he began to weep.

**:::**

King Hector stood on the balcony overlooking the village below, its tranquil routine an inviting departure from the maniacal maze of machinations that were taking place behind these castle walls. His face gave no indication of inner turmoil, cold as the stone that he stood upon, his once warm, brown eyes having lost their luster even in the light of day. But he knew that he would bring his people a better life, a new life in a new world full of possibilities. That was what kept him going, what pushed him to take any road necessary to make his vision a reality.

He could hear the footsteps of a man behind him in the archway, stopping shy of the sunlight with a scuff of his leather boot against the floor, remaining in the shadows. This man had come to him months ago, after his brother returned from one of his sabbaticals to the village of Tomera. He was a mystery then just as much as he was now, but he had made a simple offer that Hector could not refuse. Hector had a radical idea of a dwarven empire that spanned both the upper- and underworld, but it had always been too far out of his reach to ever be attained in his lifetime. The countries had banded together with King Cecil after the war to build a solid foundation of peace between nations, forming a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. But this man…he knew things that helped make the path to his goal so much clearer.

Hector didn't turn his stare from his people, despite the presence behind him waiting patiently for an audience. The wind that snaked around the peaks of the mountains slithered past his broad, dwarven warrior's frame, causing the furs that adorned his shoulders and back to dance erratically as it came and went. His perfectly groomed beard tickled his lips in the breeze, and he scratched the itch with his teeth. The man in shadow waited a few moments more before speaking.

"Your brother has been thoroughly broken, Your Majesty," Shin-Ra spoke to the solitary king leaning upon the balcony railing.

"So he is alive?" Hector asked, glancing at his shoulder in recognition of the other man's presence. There was a small glimpse of remorse on his face as he listened.

"As promised, he is alive," replied Shin-Ra. "He may still be of use, but for now he will remain in the dungeon until he is needed."

"So now we wait," Hector said calmly to the morning air as he turned his gaze back to his people below, feeling reassured that his brother had not made the ultimate sacrifice. He wasn't entirely happy about how this had all played out, but he understood the risks and consequences of making such bold moves on the world's stage. The first arrow had just been loosed from its bow, and the target would soon feel the sting of its impact. "Are you sure that your enchantment cannot be broken?"

"I am sure. The enchantment is ancient, and any knowledge of its craft has long since vanished from this world. They will seek a healer once they arrive in Baron, and as soon as an attempt is made to heal the bard's wound with any kind of magic, the curse will take hold."

"Ardwick performed much better than anticipated," Hector said as he finally turned to face the figure wrapped in black robes, hood shading most of his face in impenetrable darkness. Hector strode confidently back into the war room, showing no signs of intimidation in Shin-Ra's presence. The ghostly shadow stepped aside to let him through before striding beside him. "His love affair with Lady Rydia has made this a smooth endeavor. It is a pity that he should have to die never knowing his role in ushering this new world order into existence."

"Indeed, he is the key to the summoner's return," Shin-Ra responded, standing head and shoulders over the king beside him. "As per our arrangement, once I have her I shall leave you to carry out the rest of your plans."

"I am a man of my word, as well, Lord Feros," Hector acknowledged as he took a seat at the north end of a large roundtable in the middle of the room. The room itself was a cylinder, with several maps drawn upon large canvases stretched across the walls, and strewn about the table. Hanging from the north end of the wall, billowing gently behind Hector, was a banner displaying the Agartian coat of arms that could be seen on every wall of the castle. On the wall opposite, however, was a banner heralding a coat of arms seen only in this room: a heater shield with alternating chevrons of light and dark, two swords crossed behind it, a hemispherical, horned helmet on top, with the crest of a rock moth flying above the helmet.

The man in dark robes did not sit, choosing to remain a looming shadow over the table. He took great pleasure in seeing the wedge he had been able to push between the two brothers of Tomera, exploiting one's pragmatic views against the other's zealously. Hector did not share in the beliefs of the radical clan known as the Followers of Shin-Ra, and the majority of Tomerans treated them as outcasts. But Philip had become enthralled with their belief in a great dragon god that would save them from the influence of the abhorrent upperworld creatures that defiled their land by opening the junction. While Hector didn't believe in any such god, he did feel strongly that the beings of the upperworld deserved retribution for their actions during the war. Many did not realize the great number of casualties suffered by Tomeran miners that were buried alive in the diamond mines after the junction was first opened. So many women and children left without their patriarchs seeded a great disdain in the community that only grew when the war was over, and no offer of recompense was extended. King Giott had provided much assistance, for which they were grateful, but his continued support of the upperworld "saviors" was disheartening. Hector and Philip decided to take the matter into their own hands by pushing the people of Agart into the progressive society they had become, perched at the edge of the junction as the hub of a new empire.

"Your brother still firmly believes that I am the deity he worships, Your Majesty," the shadowed figure said with a hint of a smile on his cold, blue lips. Knowing well that Hector would deny him any respect if he claimed to be the Shin-Ra that the radicals threw their faith upon, he simply introduced himself as a mage by the name of Feros from Mysidia that had traveled to the underworld in a desperate attempt to seek revenge upon King Cecil for his attack on their village. By exploiting the faith of the radicals, and their ignorance of upperworld magic, he was able to convince them that he was, indeed, their god. But to Hector, he was just another mage with the cunning and the will to see the destruction of his adversaries through any means necessary.

"Your manipulation of the radicals has been a boon in more ways than one, Lord Feros," Hector replied as he perused a map of the southern hemisphere, covering the lands of Baron, Eblan, Agart, and Mysidia. "Not only do they willingly sacrifice themselves to our cause, but it also rids Tomera of the sodding outcasts. We will finally be seen as a nation that commands the world's attention and respect when we stamp them out of existence."

"And you are sure that your infiltrators have provided you with accurate information?" Shin-Ra probed.

"Indeed. Our spies made the final map of the castle layout after we arrived in Baron several weeks ago for the banquet," Hector replied as he pulled another large parchment out from under the map before him. Scrawled upon it was a labyrinth of dark, thin charcoal lines.

"Then I will take my leave, for now, and will return when the time has come," Shin-Ra responded as he turned away from the solemn king, who seemed to lose himself in the maps, or perhaps was losing himself in something else altogether. He gazed at the parchment, caring little for any further conversation with the mage, failing to even acknowledge his departure. He only heard footsteps trailing away, the creak of the wooden door open and close before the relief of silence washed over him. Too many things occupied his mind to fully concentrate on the perfectly edged lines on the map in front of him, his fingers tracing hallways and secret passages. He needed something to take his mind off the feeling that was now slowly fading from the inside out, the feeling of cold that seeped into his bones whenever he was near the man in shadow.

 


	11. In Somnium Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil has a dream about his past. Rydia dreams of an ancient evil. Kain dreams of his childhood with Cecil.

Cecil walked with wide-eyed wonder through the valley, its splendor every bit as lush and beautiful as he remembered. Massive trees, grown over the centuries bent like gallant arches before him, sunlight poking through the canopy to rest peacefully on the grass below. Children could be heard playing through the woods, the smell of hearth fires and billowing chimneys beckoning him deeper into the valley. As he walked through the natural archway, he wrapped his fingers around one of the dangling adventitious roots that hung like wooden icicles, growing with patient fervor towards the earth. The feel of the bark on his palms was so real, the scratch of a sharp thorn actually caused him to reflexively withdraw. He began to laugh out of sheer joy at the sensation.

A river ran calmly through the valley, meandering lazily as it tumbled through the smooth pebbles and stones that made its bed, babbling a steady rhythm that the wildlife seemed to pick up on. Birds called to one another in familiar mating songs, with the rapping of tiny claws from small, furry woodland creatures giving chase up and down the tree trunks. The feeling of natural harmony was so vivid to his senses that it bordered on mysticism. What made it all the more enthralling was that he knew he was dreaming. He knew it all too well as he cleared the arch of trees and found himself standing before the peaceful village, its citizens unaware of the fate that would eventually befall them when he would one day arrive as a dark knight, heralding the end of their existence.

Cecil observed them for some time, just watching them go about their chores and routines, realizing that they were completely oblivious to his presence. He was but a casual spectator of their lives, and he wanted more than anything to be a part of it now. Now that he knew his family history and its roots here in the Lunarian colony of Mist, he wanted to somehow rewind the hands of time and begin anew. Cecil watched two young boys laughing as they chased a small flock of fledgling chocobos. One of the boys had hair of shimmering white, the other with a head covered in green curls. It reminded him of his childhood with Kain, how they would give chase to small creatures, imagining they were the ferocious beasts that they would come to slay in their older years as knights of the kingdom. It also reminded him that to go back would mean losing that friendship with the dragon knight, as well as his one true love waiting so tolerantly for his return. As much as it pained him to have this life he never knew taken against his will, it truly wrenched his heart to even think of leaving the life he had now.

His moment of reflection was soon disrupted as the sound of a worried mother came from one of the quaint, log and stone cabins. She was reprimanding the boys for chasing the chicks, and he could tell by their posture that this was not an uncommon occurrence in their lives, as they quickly stopped their rambunctious behavior and stood before the woman to receive their scolding. How often Cecil and Kain had been scolded for similar activities would take too long to count, and Cecil smiled at the sight of an ordinary lifestyle tucked away in this unassuming valley. Once the woman had finished her lecture, she took the boy with white hair inside, leaving the green-haired scamp to stalk off towards another cabin. He looked about the same age as Palom, no more than ten or eleven years of life in his skin. His tunic and breeches were of a plain, white linen, stained and streaked with badges of adventure in hues of green and brown, his feet bare on the soft grass. He shuffled over to a well beside one of the cabins and hoisted himself onto its edge, sitting with legs dangling upon the stone.

There was something that drew Cecil to this boy, as though some connection between them was ushering him further into this reconstructed world. He walked towards the well with a bit of hesitation in each step, anxious of disrupting the peace with any sudden movements. As he got closer, he saw the boy hold out his hands, palms facing upwards as he practiced magical chants. He heard the boy call out an incantation, followed by a small column of flame igniting in one hand. He called out another phrase, and a column of white, soothing energy rose up from his other hand to meet the flame. Their energies seemed to hiss at one another as he dared them closer together, snaps of flame sizzling in puffs of smoke as they touched the light. Then he clapped his hands together suddenly, and Cecil's breath caught in his throat as he expected some release of magical energy. There was nothing but silence, followed by a melancholy sigh that the boy released. The boy then looked up into the sky expectantly, his glistening green eyes catching sparkles of sunlight as they aimed towards one of the many peaks in the surrounding mountains.

"Where are you, HaMut?" the boy asked with such sadness that Cecil wanted to reach out to him, to offer him any form of consolation he could give. The boy's gaze eventually fell back to the ground as he lifted himself off the edge of the well and dropped back to the grass. But before the boy could wander any farther, a call rushed through the air that stopped him in his tracks. It was a voice that Cecil had recently become very familiar with.

"FeRos! FeRos, come here. Quickly!"

Cecil turned towards the voice to see his mother walking hastily, a baby swaddled in white cloth, wide-eyed and curious in her arms. It brought to Cecil a feeling of immense joy to see her up and about, looking so much more lively than he was used to. But the look on her face indicated that no good news was behind her insistence on his brother's audience. The green-haired boy stepped forward slowly, his brow raised in alarm as though he knew what conversation was about to take place. Cecil watched as the two met there before him, the tranquil village their backdrop, the playful wark of chocobos in the distance.

"What's wrong, Mother?" FeRos asked pensively. "Is it about HaMut? And Father?"

"Yes, dear. Something has happened…" she began, though she had to stop and catch the emotion that was already threatening to break loose through her eyes.

"I knew it," the boy replied sadly, his eyes cast downward, focusing on a few blades of grass blowing in the soft breeze. "I could feel it."

"FeRos, we must leave this place," she said with quivering lips. "We must leave Mist. It is no longer safe for us here."

"We can't leave, mother!" the boy shouted, indignant from the shock of such a proposal. "This is our home! If we're not safe here, then we're not safe anywhere!"

"This is not up for debate!" she replied sharply, trying her best not to let the emotions get the best of her. "Now please, we must get our things from the cabin. We must not lose any more daylight."

"No," the boy spoke soft but strong. Cecil watched as his mother's eyes welled up with tears, though her face remained like stone. She was trying so hard to keep it together, and Cecil wanted to comfort her, to hold her now and tell her that things would turn out fine in the end. But this strange dream state would not allow such interference. He was simply forced to watch this exchange.

"FeRos…please," Matoya pleaded. His face and stance were still defiant, and it was clear to Cecil that this boy had built strong connections with the village in his brief lifetime, strong enough to go against his own mother's wishes. This was the image that had flashed through his mind when he first touched his crystal, and over the past week more images had come and gone until they could be strung together into the scene that was playing out before him. Thinking of that moment, he looked down to see his crystal shining brightly upon his chest, dangling from the silver chain. He looked for a similar crystal on his brother, but saw none.

"Not until I know what happened," FeRos responded, wanting nothing more than a reason that might sway him to follow her.

"Must you force this upon me now? I will tell you everything once we have begun our journey."

"No!" FeRos replied sternly. "I want to know now!"

The silence that filled the air was thick, and Cecil could feel it in his heart as it beat against his ribs with anticipation. He could see his mother's emotional breakdown as her eyes closed, pressing her face against the child in her arms. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a rush of warmth upon his cheek.

"Okay," Matoya caved, whispering the word upon the wind. She opened her eyes again, releasing several tears on the baby's cloth, his large, deep-blue eyes studying her features with wonder. She leaned down to the ground, steadying herself with her free hand until her posterior was firmly seated on the grass. She patted a spot next to her as she looked at the green-haired boy with genuine affection. "Come sit, my son. I shall tell you everything."

Without even thinking, Cecil walked over and sat next to his mother, as if her words had been for him. FeRos sat on her other side, finally showing a break in his defiant disposition as he seemed eager to hear the story. Matoya took a moment to compose herself, a deep breath released to the cool morning air. Cecil watched as the boy's gaze became more anxious, as though he could sense a terrible wrong had occurred. Strangely, Cecil began to feel something, as well, an ominous foreboding feeling that lingered like a foul aura.

"You know already that your father and HaMut have been gone for some time," Matoya began.

"Father has been training HaMut, so that he can defend our home," FeRos filled in the depth of his knowledge on the subject. Matoya looked as though her heart were breaking over and over again, each time she saw the innocent face of her son.

"Yes, dear, that's right," she continued. "But do you remember when I traveled back to my first home in Mysidia about a month ago?"

"Yes," FeRos replied quietly.

"I was there to see your father…he had asked me to come," she was trying not to fumble through her sentences, but the gravity of the conversation weighed upon her. "He said something had gone terribly wrong during your brother's training on Mount Ordeals. Someone has been practicing dark magic attempting to take control of HaMut's mind through our crystals."

"Is that why you took my crystal when you returned?" FeRos asked.

"Yes, my dear, I couldn't risk anyone trying to take you or SeSol," Matoya answered. Cecil's eyes perked up at the sound of his true name, feeling a swell of emotion that he embraced with a smile, despite the somber mood. FeRos looked at the baby in his mother's arms for a moment, as though he was looking for guidance from the chubby-cheeked child that could only answer with a sneeze, followed by a hiccup.

"So he sh…should be okay then, right?" FeRos asked, though the stutter in his words gave away the feelings he couldn't refute. "Without the crystal he'll be fine, right?"

"FeRos, I…" Matoya stumbled as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. HaMut has…turned on your father…on us."

"No, that can't be!" FeRos was becoming agitated again as he refused the information he was receiving. He stood vehemently and began pacing back and forth before her. Cecil watched in awe. "He was just fine when I last saw him!"

"FeRos, please! Do not make this any harder than it is already," Matoya pleaded with the boy through restrained sobs, still sitting on the grass now looking up at her son. "You said you wanted to know, and I'm telling you the truth. I know you feel it. You said you could feel it."

"I…I don't…" the boy was becoming frustrated with his own thoughts, the uncertainty of his world as it turned upside down. He eventually collapsed to his knees, a new set of grass stains rubbing onto his breeches. "I don't want to believe it."

"Nor do I, but it is the reality that we are faced with," Matoya said as she shook a few more tears from her eyes. It pained Cecil to see her so distraught, and it reminded him of how emotional she became when the subject was broached during their last conversation a week prior. He could see how this tore her apart now, how it had rent their peaceful lives without remorse, and he understood why she couldn't bring herself to speak of it again.

"But…" FeRos suddenly looked as though he had a startling realization. "If they got to him through his crystal, then the ones using this dark magic must be…"

"Yes, FeRos, they are one of us," Matoya finished the thought, seeing the twist of pain that it wrought. Cecil saw her tuck her lips, holding her quivering jaw as steady as she could, tears still making trails down her cheeks. "Some of our kind still residing on the moon do not believe those of us that chose to make our home here are worthy of life. They would seek to destroy all that we have, in any way possible. It seems they have found a way."

"Father can save him, I know he can," FeRos said, attempting a voice filled with hope that came out washed in sadness. Cecil could see a deep welling of emotion in Matoya's face as she was about to dash what little hope was left in her son.

"FeRos…" she began, trying to control the crack in her voice. "FeRos, listen to me," she said with solemn notes, trying to lure his eyes to hers so she could be assured he was hearing the following words. "Your father tried to save him, but he…" she trailed off as FeRos's eyes begged her not to tell him what he feared she would say. "He failed. What you felt…what _we_ felt…was the end of your father's life."

"Did HaMut…?" FeRos began the question, but could see in his mother's eyes the answer before he could finish it. His own eyes began to redden, as a wall of tears pressed against them. Matoya was taken aback when FeRos stood once again, furiously. "It can't be! This can't be happening!"

"FeRos, please!" Matoya pleaded once more. "Do you see why we must leave? We can work through this in time, but we must go now. HaMut will—"

"No!" FeRos shouted once more at his mother, who reeled at the anger. "I don't want to leave! This isn't fair!"

"Please, FeRos, just listen to me!" Matoya said as she stood up to reach for her son's arm, trying to take him in an embrace to calm him down. He drew his arm out of her grip and glared at her, tears bursting from his eyes, their once lustrous green now a bit darker. Cecil watched as she almost looked as though she feared him, feared what he might do in his current state of emotional unraveling. There was a tense silence as no one moved, and then the baby began to cry.

"I'm not leaving! This is our _home_!" FeRos finally erupted before turning and running off into the village, lost behind one of the cabins. Several villagers had stopped to see what was behind the sudden outburst, and a woman with elegant silver hair began to walk over to Matoya, a young girl with similar hair at her side.

"Are you alright, MaToYa?" the woman asked with sincerity, seeing the distress that was drawn all over her face. Cecil watched his mother as she tried to collect herself, rocking the wailing baby in her arms until he was finally lulled back into a drowsy calm, his eyelids showing signs of impending sleep.

"I'm sorry, I'm…" Matoya wiped what tears remained from her face and took a deep breath before she continued. "I'm afraid that I must leave the village. HaMut will no longer be our defender, and I must make sure that the appropriate safety measures are in place to keep him away from here."

"Does that mean FeRosYa is leaving, too?" the young girl asked innocently.

"YuNa, it is not your place to ask such things," the mother scolded her daughter. She then turned her attention back to Matoya as she seemed worried at the implications of what she had just heard. "Should we leave, as well? What should I tell the others?"

"Tell them to stay here, but be wary of outsiders from this moment on. This may still be the safest place for all of us, but if HaMut returns, you should not hesitate to defend yourselves by any means necessary. May the EiDoLon watch over you. I will be…"

The scene before him suddenly began to blur, as Cecil strained to regain his focus on his surroundings, the ambient sounds fading quickly. He noticed a pulsing light below him, and he looked down to see his crystal oscillating in a familiar pattern, and with a blink he was flat on his back, staring at the thatched hut roof of his mother's hut in Mysidia. There was a patter of light rain that sounded much like the babbling brook from his dream, but instead of bird song following along there was a chorus of frogs calling to one another.

Now wide awake, Cecil sat up in the darkness, the light of his crystal casting a ghostly glow about the room. He stood up and walked to the desk where he had left the other two crystals, picking up the one with a faint red aura. He held it reverently, reading the name etched upon it: FeRosYa. He thought perhaps it was just his sleepy eyes playing tricks, but he could almost swear that the glow was getting stronger.

The thought that this piece of his family tree that had been lost for so long was still out there was invigorating. It was the same feeling that swelled within him when he first learned of his mother's existence. In the week that had passed since Matoya revealed the crystals, Cecil had fantasized various scenarios of meeting his brother for the first time, but a nagging question constantly disrupted these feelings. If he was indeed alive, why had FeRos not made an attempt at contact? The threads of thinking that were born from this question often led to distressing ends of his brother clinging to life somewhere, much like his mother, or possibly being held captive for unknown reasons, or perhaps worst of all, that he wanted nothing to do with his family.

He had wanted desperately to speak to the Elder about all of this, but when Cecil requested an audience, he was told the Elder had left to attend to urgent matters in the eastern forests, and had been absent since. No one would tell him what this business pertained to, although Cecil didn't press as hard as he probably should have, especially considering the matters of official communiqués going missing somewhere between Baron and Mysidia. But the concerns of his family were more important to him right now, and he was still sorting out his own self-awareness after everything he had learned from his mother and his crystal over the past week.

There was only one thing that could possibly draw his attention away at this moment, as the glow of his crystal illuminated the corner of a letter he had received from Rosa the day before. His finger caressed the parchment, moving it gently into the light, reading the one line that had taken him by surprise for what must have been the hundredth time now. And just as it had every time before, it brought a smile to his face.

**:::**

The wind was cold and harsh as dark clouds swirled overhead, each flash of lightning illuminating the peak of a black mountain reaching into the sky. Rydia shivered as the air pricked her skin like a spell of ice cast upon her, but she couldn't take her eyes off the summit of the mountain, for she was certain that something was moving up there. With every flash of light the mountain seemed to take a different shape, as though the rocks themselves were alive. She took a step forward, as if she had made the decision to climb this desolate spike of stone erupting from the earth, but a jagged finger of lightning struck the path ahead of her. She jumped back as the thunderous roar swept through her, feeling the hairs on her skin rise from the discharge of electricity permeating the air.

Her eyes once again turned upwards, focusing on the peak as the erratic flashes revealed an unfolding pair of dark wings. They were massive, looking like small mountains in themselves, and they slowly began to beat back and forth, the eddies in their wake swirling the black clouds into cyclones that streamed down upon the mountain, churning the stone. Then the wings began to rise, lifting with them a dark creature that slowly took the shape of a dragon, its long neck ending with an impressive maw surrounded by thick spines. As the dragon continued to hover over the peak, backlit by the storm, she was struck by a fear she had not felt since the moment she had looked into the eyes of the embodiment of all hatred on the Lunarian moon. As if responding to her horror, the dragon let out a deafening screech that drove through the ears, boring straight into the mind. The pitch of the roar then descended into a growl that shook the ground, sending tremors up her legs. There was no escaping this feeling of dread as it attacked from all directions, and she fell to her knees, hands clamped over her ears until it finally stopped. If it weren't for the storm still raging, she would have thought she had gone deaf.

Rydia once again affixed her eyes upon the dark dragon as it continued to hover high in the sky, and she could see it clearly now. She knew exactly what she was looking at, and that terrified her more than anything. The dragon suddenly seemed to notice her presence, and it let out another low growl before tucking its wings and descending in a dive. She felt helpless, as though she knew this was the end, and her body didn't respond to any plea to move away from this threat. Everything around her seemed to slow down as she couldn't help but focus on the dragon that was nearly upon her, its mouth open wide, preparing to swallow her.

Rydia burst upright from the bed, sending the sheets into disarray, her panicked breathing filling the small room with anxiety. She reached to her side, wanting more than anything to have human contact at that moment, as if to know the world was still alive. Her hands found nothing but empty sheets and she looked over in dismay to see that Agleson was not with her. She just stared at the back of her hand anxiously as it grasped the silken cloth, the hairs on the back of her neck still tingling as though the strike of lightning lingered in the air. The gentle listing of the schooner, the soft rap of boots on the planks overhead, it all seemed less real to her than the dream she had just experienced. Even the cloth in her hands wasn't as soft as she remembered. She closed her eyes as she tried to shake off this feeling of being disconnected from reality, and she began to bite down on her lip to feel the pain, to feel something real.

"Are you all right, Rye Rye?"

Rydia nearly jumped out of her skin as Agleson's voice caused all of her wound up tension to release like a catapult. Her eyes were quickly upon the doorway as she drew the sheets over the skin of her chest frantically. Agleson stood holding a plate of food and a steaming cup of tea, wearing a red suede vest and matching breeches, white knee-socks with a clean, pressed white linen shirt. His hazel eyes looked longingly for an answer from across the room. He could see the consternation overwhelming the summoner of Mist, the look of someone that had just witnessed a horrible tragedy, and the glint from twin trails of tears framing her cheeks. He quickly made his way to the bed, setting the plate and mug upon the table before taking her hands as he sat next to her.

"What happened?" Agleson asked with such genuine concern in his eyes. Rydia wished she could somehow just push this all away to keep him from sharing her pain. But her heart, acting of its own accord, forced her to lunge face first into his chest, allowing him to cradle her in his arms. "You're trembling."

"I saw it…in my dream," Rydia whispered, the heat of her breath warming her face as it reflected off of his vest. "I saw the demon god, Shin-Ra."

"But it was just a dream," Agleson tried to comfort her, rubbing her bare back, cold and clammy from sweat. "Didn't you say that it would need to be summoned to ever escape the prison of the Black City?"

"It felt so real, Agleson," Rydia replied, finally bringing herself back to an upright position, her eyes gazing alarmingly into his. "What if Philip has somehow found a way to release it? The dark dragon on the coat of arms…could it be?"

"We will warn King Cecil upon our arrival in Baron. It is all we can do for now," Agleson assured her, holding her hand tenderly, stroking her fingers with his thumb. "Speaking of, we are nearly there. It is hard to believe that a week has gone by already. The sunrise is quite beautiful, and it is bathing the spires of Castle Baron in a glow that nearly rivals your own."

"I can't imagine I'm glowing at all right now, I feel as though I must look atrocious," Rydia complained with a slight grin.

"Nothing a little breakfast and tea can't help remedy," Agleson replied as he reached for the plate and mug, still warm. When his eyes met hers again, her lighthearted grin had faded, and the look of worry slid back into place. Despite his efforts to charm her this morning, she was truly concerned about this, and it was evident she would not let it go so easily. He lay the dishes back on the table and returned his hands to hers. "Rydia, may I speak candidly?"

"Of course, always," she replied, interested in his sudden shift in tone. He rarely called her Rydia, and it made her feel as though he had something quite serious to tell her, or that he was possibly upset about something she had said or done. Her dread ebbed, however, as he gave her a genuine smile.

"I have spent a fortnight with you, and it has been the most inspiring, and truly amazing experience of my life," Agleson began, his voice soft but uplifting. "I've seen you effortlessly manage yourself through unfamiliar situations, and in the face of great peril you had the strength to save my life."

"Only after you saved mine," she cut in, mostly out of nervous energy from the lavish compliments he was using to try and bolster her esteem.

"Be that as it may, I don't think I would have ever found the resolve to do what I did were it not for you," Agleson quickly turned her attempt at misdirecting the conversation. This actually brought a beaming smile upon her face, which took her pleasantly by surprise after feeling so wretched just a moment ago. "What amazes me more than anything, though, is that you don't even see it in yourself. You are too humble, milady. You wield such incredible power at your fingertips. With a breath of words you could defeat any foe. Except the one inside, the struggle that has sent you on this journey. I suppose where I'm going with all of this is that I believe in you. If you feel that this demon god is of concern, then I will stand by you and see it through. But more than anything, I want you to start believing in yourself. You are one of the saviors of our planet, and if some dragon thinks it is going to unleash itself upon this world, then I want you to tell it to go back to the dark hole it crawled out of…or else you shall punish it by forcing it to look at you when you've just gotten out of bed."

"Oh, hush you!" she spat playfully as she took a pillow and smashed it against the side of his head, a loose feather or two swirling wildly into the air. He laughed as he saw her smile finally set free, her posture slowly releasing to a calmer state. He took her hand and laid his lips upon it gracefully, giving her a wink as he did. She leaned in, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him firmly, the warmth of her heart radiating through her fingers. She released him and he seemed to be in a daze, as though her sudden spontaneity had taken him completely by surprise. "Thank you, Agleson. You're right, there is no reason to drown myself in worry. We will certainly warn Cecil and Rosa, but right now we should focus on matters that are here in the real world."

"Like that tangled nest of hair on top of your head?" Agleson quipped, already bracing himself for another pillow impact. It came much faster and harder than the first, but when he opened his eyes she was still smiling, even brighter than before.

**:::**

He could hear the shouts for help as they tore through the thick foliage of the Baron forests. Despite only being eleven years old, Kain Highwind was already learning the skills of the Dragon Knights thanks to his father's tutelage. He could balance himself perfectly on low-hanging branches, and he had learned the stretches that gave his tendons the amazing elasticity that propelled him over the hedges without so much as a scrape along the bottom of his leather shoes. But this might have been the first time that his skills were put to a true test, for his friend was clearly in danger, knowing well the difference between Cecil's false alarms and his true screams.

His linen clothing whipped in the wind as he launched himself from perch to perch, focusing on the trajectory of Cecil's voice. In his hand he wielded a wooden, blunt-tipped training spear that he had pilfered from his father's storage closet earlier that morning. He had also taken a wooden sword for his friend, as they had fully intended on a rousing game of Ninjas and Knights, a game that Baron children had supposedly invented as the tension with Eblan continued to rise, always seemingly near the edge of all out war. To them it was just a fun kid's game, completely ignorant of the subliminal propaganda that it engendered in that generation. Indeed, Kain had a particular disdain for the Ninjitsu of Eblan, mostly learned from his father's own discriminatory remarks, calling them tricksters and cowards, which is why he always played the Knight, and made Cecil play the Ninja.

He was close now, and he could see a clearing where several small figures were circling their prey. Kain quietly leapt to a high branch on the edge of the clearing and watched as a small band of imps had trapped his friend, who lay on his back, his feet bound in a snare tied to a stake in the ground. He was clawing for his sword, which was several feet away, and he would be taken by the imps long before he would reach it. Kain's father had taught him a great deal about these scavengers of the forest, preying upon the weak and unwary that wandered into their patchwork territories. Despite standing only three feet tall, their disfigured faces and razor-sharp teeth still inspired great fear in those not trained for combat. But Kain knew they were weak. They often employed traps and guerilla tactics and were extremely cautious with any threat that they didn't believe they could handle. All Kain had to do was disable one of them, and the others would likely flee.

He gripped his wooden spear tightly and prepared to launch himself into the battle as they closed in on Cecil, who was now wailing in fear. He pushed hard off the branch, but the pressure of the situation caused him to put too much force on his left foot, and his jump was immediately off-balance. He had no way to course correct in mid-air, so instead of making a stealthy, preemptive strike, he let out a shrill battle cry in hopes that it would divert their attention. It worked. All eyes were upon him as he fell in the middle of the circle, somewhat gracefully tucking and rolling into a defensive stance. The imps all took a few steps back as they assessed this new intruder.

"Are you alright?" Kain whispered to his friend, who looked as though he was on the verge of tears. Kain never took his eyes away from the imps, casting a stare at each of them in a rhythm to ensure that none would attempt a sneak attack. Cecil watched his friend in awe, as he seemed completely at ease in such a dangerous situation.

"Y-Yes…I think so," Cecil stammered. "My legs are stuck."

"Don't worry, I'm going to get us out of this," Kain assured his friend, as he continued glancing at each imp, their teeth gnashing, daggers at the ready. He noticed that one of them wore a pendant, probably a trophy from some other unlucky wanderer of these woods. He assumed that this was the leader of this particular pack, and decided in that moment that if he was going to have any chance at scaring these things off then he would need to cut off the head of the snake, as it were.

The imps had apparently concluded that they could easily handle this young child and began to move in once more. But Kain let loose another devilish yell, and it stopped the imps in their tracks. This brought the boy a rush of pleasure knowing that he controlled the flow of this game. This was where he felt most comfortable, in the thick and heat of danger. He took advantage of their momentary stall, as he kneeled slowly, feeling the potential energy build up in his hamstrings, the warmth of their eminent release coursing through his legs. This time, when he sprang into his leap, his feet pushed off in perfect unison, and he was quickly arcing through the air, spear held above his head with two hands, its blunted tip prepared to deliver a fatal blow through the imps head. As if stupefied, the imp didn't even move, not until the spear made contact, driving it to the dirt with incredible force. Kain landed a clean blow between the eyes, crushing its skull, his knee dropping into the creatures stomach. It died with a sickening, drawn out wheeze, like air being pushed through the bellows.

Kain stood confidently and turned to the others, their horrible little faces showing signs of contemplating a retreat. All but one decided to flee, but the one remaining dared to make a lunge for Cecil in an attempt to take their bounty back to whence they came. Kain would have none of it, and he quickly closed the distance between them, forcing the imp off of its sprint with a thrust of his spear. The creature flailed a bit as it rolled on its side, tossing up broken blades of grass in its wake. Kain wasted no time allowing it to find its feet again, as it turned on its back to see the boy standing over it, spear held high as he prepared to end its life.

"Kain, stop!" Cecil cried.

To his surprise, the words actually halted him for a moment, gave him enough of a pause that the imp was able to scurry out of harms away and back into the forest, disappearing in the shadows. He cursed under his breath before spitting on the ground where the imp once lay, lowering his hands back down to his sides and turning to face his friend, still bound by the snare. Kain walked over and kneeled down to begin untying the knot in the line without saying a word, without even looking at Cecil.

"Thank you for saving me," Cecil said, eyes glancing back and forth from Kain's stern face to the ground, never quite sure if his friend would ever look at him. "You were really great, those imps didn't stand a chance."

"Only one I know for sure," Kain replied, referring to the listless body laying a few feet away, its foul stench carried by a gentle breeze.

"It's better that way. They'll tell the others not to mess with us!" Cecil said with exaggerated vigor, trying to get some kind of warm reaction from Kain. He finished loosening the knot, enough so that Cecil could free his ankles and stand on his own two feet again.

"You feel sorry for them, don't you?" Kain asked with a scowl. Cecil was unsure how to react, but he tried to answer honestly.

"They're just trying to survive, like any other wild animal out here," Cecil replied with a shrug, disarmingly unconcerned about nearly being taken captive by the imps, where he would likely be met with a grisly death.

"They would have killed you, Cecil!" Kain shouted. "Do you understand? You cannot take pity on your enemies, or they will use it against you!"

"Okay…" Cecil felt like a child being scolded, his head hanging low. Kain finally let out a deep sigh as his adrenaline began to wear off, and the fatigue of the battle washed over him. He stepped up to his young friend and wrapped an arm around him. Cecil looked up and noticed that Kain was actually grinning.

"I just don't want anything to happen you," Kain said as he began leading his friend at his side back towards the castle. "You're my best friend, Cecil. But if you're going to reach your dream of being a legendary dark knight like King Odin, then you need to stop playing nice. My father says there is no quarter for pity in war."

"Yeah…" Cecil said sheepishly, wishing he could be more brave, more ardent in battle. "Do you really think I could be as great as King Odin was?"

"As soon as you stop being a little sissy-pants," Kain joked as he took his friend in a headlock and began rubbing his knuckles on Cecil's crown. They wrestled there in the woods, rolling through bushes and causing enough ruckus to send the birds out of the canopy in an excited chatter of alarm calls that spread throughout the forest. Cecil was eventually able to get the upper hand, taking advantage of Kain's exhaustion from the battle with the imps, as he pinned his arms to the ground with his knees. Cecil then reached a finger into his nose and dug around until he was able to pull out a good wad of dried phlegm, with which he then began teasing Kain by moving it slowly towards his face. Kain kicked and wriggled in an attempt to free himself, but Cecil was strong for his age and was able to keep him in place.

"Say it!" Cecil demanded with a devilish smile as he wiggled his finger, the booger dangling precariously on its tip. "Say I'm not a sissy-pants!"

"Okay okay," Kain conceded as he stopped writhing, panting from the exertion. He watched as Cecil flicked the dried snot into the grass. "You're not a sissy-pants. You're the _King_ sissy-pants!"

With a last burst of energy and the element of surprise, Kain was able to force Cecil to dismount, and he slid out from under him before he was quickly on his feet and running towards the castle. Cecil immediately gave chase, and their laughter echoed through the trees, bowing gracefully in their wake.

Kain awoke to the sound of creaking boughs, as the breeze bent them against their will. His back rested against the trunk of a large Mysidian pine tree, his rump and outstretched legs balanced on one of its branches in the canopy. His eyes opened to the gentle sunlight behind him, casting everything in front of him in a lively shade of green. A butterfly fluttered by, and he watched it track an unsteady, erratic path around branches and limbs, eventually lifting up through the treetops and into the sky above.

His dream had felt intense, with every detail perfectly arranged just as he remembered the memory. With it came a pang of discomfort, however, as it caused him to wonder if he had pushed Cecil too hard to become a dark knight when they were growing up. Kain had seen no other path to take, but Cecil…perhaps things would be different now had he given him the space to make his own decisions.

These thoughts were quickly compartmentalized and shuffled away when he heard the cries of a young boy ringing out through the forest. He began to unfasten the straps around his waist and legs that kept him from plummeting to his death in his sleep, and soon he was like his younger self again, leaping from branch to branch through the trees. He was much faster now, more agile, more balanced and focused. The speed with which he alighted and leapt made it seem like he was flying, and he reveled in the wind kissing his face, his crystal spear gripped firmly in his left hand. Though he knew he was not saving his friend this time, he was going to do this for him. Everything he was doing from this moment on was for Cecil, and knowing that was enough for now.

 


	12. In Aevum Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kain rescues a child from a ritual sacrifice and learns more about Erasmus from the Elder. Rydia and Agleson meet with Rosa in Baron. Cecil finally gets a chance to speak with the Elder about his new legacy.

The cool morning breeze curled around the smooth edges of his armor, waiting patiently to lift him into battle. From his perch in the forest canopy, he could survey the small field of flowering clovers in the clearing, a strange stone pillar at its center. The pillar was nearly twice as tall as any man, and as wide as the trunk of the tree in which he was hiding. Etchings, aged and weathered, speckled its circumference in clear yet enigmatic patterns. A frayed rope was wrapped several times around the pillar only a couple of feet from the ground, binding a small child on the opposing face of the monolith from Kain's position.

Despite the cries for help that continued to echo through the forest, Kain had no intention of rushing into a situation that was still ambiguous. He saw no one else in the clearing, which struck him as odd. His gut told him this was a trap, but for whom he could not fathom. Certainly no one knew of his presence here in the forest, and even if they did, they would be fools to think that using this ploy as a means of getting to him would ever work. Kain had trained himself to lie in wait for days without moving from a position, needing little more than water, willing his body to forget the need for food or sleep. If someone was waiting in the wings for him to make a move, they would be sorely disappointed, and when they finally gave up and revealed themselves, they would fall into the very trap they had constructed.

His eyes scanned for any movement in the field, but he could gather no clues of any presence other than the child, the slightest twitch of the ropes on the stone pillar giving away the occasional struggle against their restraint. The child's voice was growing weak from so much screaming, and the cries were separated by longer and longer intervals, the spaces between filled with sobs. Kain had only recently understood how it felt to be so helpless, bound by forces outside of one's control and left expectantly waiting for anything to begin making sense. Throughout his life he had typically been able to solve these problems on his own, either through strategic thinking or brute force, neither of which were of any use in untangling the mess he had made of his life since the war. He began to see himself in his mind still waiting atop Mount Ordeals, much like the child tied to the pillar, waiting for some saving grace while simultaneously fearing that none would ever come.

But something was indeed coming for this child, as Kain finally sensed a presence lurking just outside the clearing; the smell of a burning torch, the sound of branches cracking underfoot. He noticed three shadows, one carrying the flame, pacing through the woods, stopping periodically before finally entering the clearing and moving towards the pillar. When the light of day was cast upon them, Kain could tell they were black mages from Mysidia, their dark robes absorbing the light around them, their wide-brimmed straw hats casting long shadows to the ground. Each of them wielded a staff, but only one carried the flame at its peak, which seemed strange at first, for there was plenty of daylight with which to see. But when Kain observed the bundles of freshly chopped firewood carried by the second mage and the sack overflowing with dried pine needles carried by the third, the motives behind the situation became clearer in their sinister intent.

Kain now had a reason to intervene, as these three were most likely apostates, mages that had been excommunicated from the Mysidian commune. Being labeled an apostate was a punishment reserved for a seldom few that rejected the Mysidian faith or for those that committed heinous crimes. Some simply left to travel the world, finding new lives elsewhere, while others embarked on quests to Mount Ordeals for their penitence in hopes of rejoining the community. Not all apostates had such honorable intentions, however, and Kain had indeed encountered isolated pockets of spiteful mages on his trips between the mountain and the village, but they never paid him any mind. Kain gave them just as much, allowing them to go about their business as long as they did not interrupt his own travels. He now began to wonder if this had been the right decision, if perhaps he could have saved this boy's life before he had ever been stolen from whatever peaceful life he was living before.

The three mages began setting up the wood and kindling in three distinct piles in a wide triangular boundary around the pillar before reconvening before the young boy, whose screams seemed to rejuvenate, a renewed intensity as the moment of his death drew nearer. The mage with the flaming torch then walked around to each pile, igniting them one by one until he was back where he began. Another apostate followed behind, throwing a mysterious mineral dust into the flames that turned them a deep violet color. The last mage remained in front of the child, unsheathing an ornate dagger from under his cloak, fingering the tip of the blade until a small drop of blood crawled out from a pierced capillary. The atmosphere in the clearing had been noticeably altered, as the birds ceased their morning chatter, and the once refreshing breeze now seemed to slice deeper into the skin as it slid past Kain's cheeks.

The apostates stood before the boy without care for his cries, heads bowed as they began chanting in a foreign tongue, words that Kain had never heard from the mouths of any country. He was hesitant to make any bold moves with three mages of unknown ability. From his position he could easily descend upon them with a guaranteed advantage, but all it would take is one missed strike and a well-placed spell to end his journey forever. He glanced down at his spear, its lanced head a gleaming crystal fang, his arm the viper curled back and ready to strike. His eyes moved down the shaft to the pommel, itself a fearsome weapon, with three crescent blades set off the end like fletching on an arrow, making it effective both in close quarters combat, as well as a thrown projectile. Multiple strategies began arranging themselves in his head as he contemplated exactly how he would dispatch these mages. He decided that until he saw the dagger move to strike the child, he would continue to wait and investigate their intentions further.

He did not have to wait long, for their chanting came to an abrupt halt as commotion in the forest stole their attention. Kain shifted slightly on his perch to get a better view as shadowed figures could be seen marching towards them, staves glowing in preparation for an impending encounter. Kain watched as the interlopers stepped into the clearing, their identities finally revealed. The man leading the troop was an easily recognizable figure: his black robes wrapped tightly around his meager frame, a rope of shimmering golden threads tied around his waist, the remnants of his long brown hair blending with his chest-length beard to form a skirt around his head. His eyes were full of anger; the wrinkles in his brow could be easily seen even from Kain's distance. His staff—a simple pole of old-growth, unstained pine with a squared top—was beginning to glow in oscillating colors of red, blue, green, and white. The Elder of Mysidia was in rare form, as his demeanor typically dripped with pacifism, and Kain was interested to see just what this man could do. He had only two mages with him, one dressed in black, the other in white.

"Your timing is impeccable, you old wretch," Kain heard one of the apostates spew from his spiteful mouth. The Elder didn't even flinch at the insult as he slowly came to a stop a dozen paces away just outside the trine of flames, the apostate holding out the dagger threateningly. "I don't know how you found us, but I could not have asked for a better audience. This is the day that we shall witness the Hallowed One's return. How poetic that it shall also be the day that He sends you into the abyss."

"Whatever ritual you have intended here, it shall go no further," the Elder spoke with firm resolution, his face never faltering as he glared at the apostates. Kain noticed the old man's fingers gripping his staff tightly to keep from shaking. He wondered if the Elder knew the boy, who had finally stopped screaming, his sobs the only indication that he was still there. The flames crackled and spat their embers furiously into the clear blue sky.

"We fear you not," the apostate replied. Kain noticed him whisper to his two followers, who both turned back to the boy to continue their ritual chants. "The Hallowed One's return is nigh, and when He comes we shall ascend to Aevum as our reward. Mysidia will soon cease to exist, and in its place the Magi shall set forth to reclaim this world."

"You are _fools_ to believe in such lies!" Kain heard the Elder lash out in a moment of lost composure, but the old man was quick to calm his fury. There was a hint of sadness in his subsequent ultimatum. "Return the boy unharmed. I cannot guarantee your lives for anything less."

"What makes you think we wish to harm him?" Kain heard as the apostate turned to put his fingers under what he imagined was the boy's chin. He noticed the Elder's eyes flare with a look of disgust as the sound of whimpering could be heard. This boy meant something to him. "If you knew anything of our rituals then you would know that this child will not suffer. He shall be the vessel for the return of the Magi, the first of many. Nay, he shall not die. His blood shall bind with the Hallowed One's spirit, and He will live forever as our true God!"

"Blasphemy!" the Elder came back with a sharp retort. Kain's grip on his spear tightened as he could feel the tension rising quickly. "The tyranny of the Magi was their own undoing, proof enough that their faith was misguided!"

"And where is your faith, Elder?" the apostate returned with a wicked smile as he turned back to face his adversary. Kain noticed the flames were growing brighter, and the air was only getting colder. "Where is the moon that we worshipped for so long, only to have our false gods desert us in our time of need? Proof enough that _you_ are the one that is misguided."

"Please," Kain heard the Elder finally concede a painful pleading voice, as though he still wished to save these despicable souls. He could feel the burn in the muscles of his legs as they yearned to launch him into the fray. "You are walking a path of bitter darkness, one from which you may never find safe return. I offer you the chance to leave now and begin your journey of penitence on Mount Ordeals."

"We eagerly refuse your offer of peace, and we offer you none in return. You cannot stop what is inevitable," the apostate replied with derision, without a hint of concern for the Elder's wishes. He turned towards the boy and raised his dagger with ceremonial authority.

The Elder hesitated.

Kain did not.

"The Hallowed One shall be re—"

Whatever remained of the sentence failed to leave the mage's mouth before Kain was upon him. His jump was a feat of incredible precision, a glistening blue dragon descending with a lethal trajectory. His spear thrust forward with unbelievable strength as it struck the apostate's chest, shattering his ribs, bursting through bone and sinew. He landed in a crouch, as the head of his spear drove the mage to the ground, blood erupting in a shower of crimson effluent as it gushed from an exploded heart. He wasted no time allowing the other mages their spell chants, ripping his spear from the corpse and turning quickly to swing the bladed pommel of his spear in an upward arc that sliced cleanly through soft flesh like a dragon's claw, leaving three parallel wounds from the mage's belly to his throat. Ribbons of blood were thrown across the clearing, spattering the flowers in a spray of death.

Kain's movements were so smooth and swift that before the second victim had even fallen from his wounds, the dragon knight had swiveled around on one foot, kicking his leg back to send the staggered apostate into one of the fires, the acrid stench of burning flesh and blood filling the air. He used the force of the kick to steady his throw, as his spear shot like a javelin from his powerful arm, finding its target in the stomach of his last opponent with a sickening sound of finality. As quickly as the battle had begun, it was over.

The last apostate fell to his knees, blood spewing from his mouth as he gripped the smooth crystal jutting from his abdomen. Strangely enough, he began to laugh. Kain had little patience for his enemies refusing to die, and he walked over quickly, laying his boot on the man's shoulder to shove him down onto his back. He gripped the shaft of his spear with a face of cold stone, the apostate smiling with teeth awash in red, his last words spat in a fit of cackling horror.

"A sacrifice…must be made…"

The words actually gave Kain a moment of pause, stirring something in him. It was a fleeting moment, as he quickly tore the spear from the apostate's body, a single stream of blood following the tip, leaving a sanguineous puddle at his feet. Then there was silence. Calm, chilling silence. Even the flames refused to whisper.

Kain turned his eyes from the massacre he had created, letting them fall on the boy whose face he still had not actually seen until now. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the face of his younger self; disheveled blonde hair, scared blue eyes. He shut his eyelids tight to clear his mind, and reopened them to a new face, one he did not recognize. While the boy's hair and eyes indeed matched his own, the face was not as familiar as a moment ago, a hallucination that he decidedly blamed on sleep deprivation.

The boy simply watched him, seemingly paralyzed with fear, eyes wide with shock, erratic breaths like a dog quietly panting in a dry heat. His innocent face was painted with a stripe of red, a remnant of the blue dragon's ruthless assault. He was otherwise unharmed. Neither of them spoke a word to each other, but an understanding existed somewhere between them. A brief flash of memory reminded Kain of a moment from his youth: a trickle of blood sliding down his soft cheek; a cheek now rough with age and war. _These are the scars that make us who we are_ , he thought.

Kain knelt down to retrieve the dagger that had fallen from the apostate's hands, the grip slick with blood. He quickly slid the blade under the rope and sliced the bindings from the boy's wrists and waist before tossing the worthless dagger back into the grass. The boy lurched forward, falling to his hands and knees, weak from the trauma of his experience. The two mages that had accompanied the Elder were quickly at the boy's side, helping him to his feet and taking him away from the pillar. Once they were outside the boundary of the flames the white mage began to examine him and chant her healing spells. Kain tucked his spear, still scarlet wet, into the clasp behind the graceful, slender wings of his armor.

"I cannot thank you enough for your assistance here," the Elder interrupted the dragon knight's brooding, the ocean blue armor speckled with spatter of battle. Kain turned slowly to face him, what could be seen of his face lacked any clear emotion.

"Why did you not stop them?" Kain asked plainly, unapologetically. To his surprise the Elder smiled back at him.

"Allow me to show you," the Elder replied, ushering with his hand towards his followers still tending to the boy. Kain walked a pace behind the old man, trying to understand his motives as he watched the staff move up and down with each step. Once they were outside the boundary of the flames the Elder stopped and turned back to face the pillar. Kain stood at his side, watching as the Elder summoned a ball of fire in his open palm, letting it hiss for a moment before throwing it at the monolith. After passing through the boundary, the spell quickly dissipated, never reaching its target.

Kain understood it as a simple disenchantment, but was caught by surprise when the entire area within the trine was soon engulfed in a brilliant tower of violet fire. It gave off no heat, but rather a chill that he could feel in his bones. When the flames quickly vanished, there was no smoke left in its wake, only the charred remains of the mages left behind, the remnants of flowers and grass littering the ground in a blanket of black ash. He stood in awe for a moment until he realized the Elder had left his side to speak to the boy.

The old man knelt down to give the boy a hug, holding him close to his chest, his hands glowing warmly with his healing touch. When he released the boy he looked upon him with warm, yet sad eyes.

"We shall speak of this when you are ready," the Elder spoke earnestly. "When the shock has worn off and you feel the ropes bound around your wrists once again, I will be there, and we will work through this together. For now it's back to the village with you. Lukhan and Aeris will escort you."

"Yes, Elder," the boy nodded, still trembling with a reluctant smile of understanding. There was wisdom in his young face that could only be imparted by the loving guidance of the Elder. The two mages each held out a hand and the boy grabbed each of them as they began walking together back into the forest. The boy turned back only once, the blood now cleaned from his face, his innocence temporarily restored. Kain met the child's gaze and an unsettling discomfort tugged at him, reminding him of his younger self once more. He watched along with the Elder until their shadowed silhouettes vanished through the trees.

"Who is that child?" Kain broke the silence. "He seems dear to you."

"As are all my children," the Elder responded, still looking longingly into the forest. "He is an orphan, one of many stranded in existential purgatory after Baron's attack during the war."

"How did you intend to free him from these apostates?" Kain pried. "Had you been forced to use magic then he would have been killed by the enchantment."

"I had faith, Kain," the Elder confessed with a smile as he turned to face him.

"So you knew I would intervene?"

"I had no inclination of your fortuitous appearance," the Elder explained. "My visions guided me here, but they did not show me the outcome. You were but an answered prayer."

"That is a great risk to take with your people, Elder," Kain spoke with a hint of concern. He had never been fond of the Mysidian faith, despite its revelations during the Crystal Wars; another holdover from his father's legacy. But Kain could sense that something deeply troubled the Elder, though he did not think to pry at the moment.

"To those that do not believe, it may appear that way," the Elder responded kindly, never wavering. Not until he turned to look upon the burnt corpses strewn about the pillar. His next words were tinged with noticeable malady. "It pains me to know that this is what our people are capable of. Such misguided souls. If only they could have been saved."

Kain shifted uncomfortably in his armor, but was otherwise silent. The Elder noticed the lack of response.

"I'm sorry Kain, do not misunderstand my sentiment. While I cannot condone it, do not regret your actions here," the Elder sought to clarify his feelings, the warmth in his voice returning. "These apostates were clearly willing to die for their beliefs and giving them that release was perhaps their only deliverance from evil. My concern is how they ever reached this point of no return. Most apostates either maintain a peaceful existence outside of Mysidia as they simply disagree with our way of life, or choose to seek salvation on Mount Ordeals. But this…"

"They mentioned something about the Magi and the Hallowed One," Kain queried as the Elder began pondering the implications of the situation. "I assume that has something to do with all of this. Are they a part of Mysidia's history and legends?"

"They are an abomination," the Elder replied with quiet frustration. He turned back towards the stone pillar, preparing to work through this new development in hopes to make sense of things. "A remnant of a darker time in our distant past. Mysidia was once ruled much like a kingdom, with something like a monarch lording over its people, called a Magus."

"A Magus…?" Kain whispered with a slight look of shock crossing his face. Luckily it was well hidden by his helmet, and the Elder did not appear to have heard his words. Kain wasn't sure he was ready to mention to the Elder that he had possibly spoken to one of these Magi on Mount Ordeals.

"Much like kings and queens in other kingdoms, the Magi would inherit their titles through birthright, but only the children that promised to uphold the creed," the Elder explained. "The Magi believed they were blessed by a god from the moon, and were destined to build an eternal paradise called Aevum. This quickly led to corruption as the Magi believed they had the divine right to command all those beneath them. They sought dominion over the Blue Planet, and began to express their intentions by building the Devil Road, the first in what was to be a vast network of magical roads that would allow the Magi to easily shape the entire world."

"So they thought that the Lunarians were gods?" asked Kain.

"Indeed, as I suppose we still do," the Elder replied. "While we no longer believe that we are favored by any such beings, the Lunarian influence on our culture is intricately woven into our lives, and the fulfillment of the Mysidian Legend has only served to strengthen our faith."

"So does that make Cecil a god now?" Kain questioned sarcastically. The Elder gave a brief chuckle, which Kain was actually glad to see, despite the desolate atmosphere.

"He is no more a god than you are, Kain," the Elder responded with a smile. "Like you, he is our savior, which is undeniably more important than an idle god. And once again you have saved us, albeit from a much smaller problem than an all-consuming plague of hatred."

"No need for laurels and ceremony," Kain said as he held up his hand in protest of any further commendation of his actions.

"Yes, of course," the Elder said with a nod. "But do not deny yourself the reward of knowing that you have done something good for someone other than yourself. May I ask how you came to find us here? As a man of faith I am not easily convinced by coincidence."

"I am going to see Cecil," Kain responded succinctly, not giving much room for teasing any other information from him.

"Truly?" the Elder seemed rather incredulous, his eyes wide. When he saw the truth in Kain's eyes he knew that something had changed in the dragon knight, that Mount Ordeals had finally given him what he needed. "So the light on the mountain has provided you with guidance? Did it speak to you?"

"Yes."

"May I be so presumptuous as to glean what it said to you?" the Elder was fascinated by any being that had been touched by the divine light at the Lunarian shrine. Cecil had been more than happy to divulge the story of his transformation upon his return with the mythgraven blade. Kain did not appear to be as forthcoming with his experience.

"Perhaps another time," Kain offered. "I must speak with Cecil first."

"I understand," the Elder acknowledged. "I can teleport us back to the village to relieve you of the travel across the countryside."

"I would appreciate that," Kain replied with a respectful nod. "But before we go may I ask you one other thing?"

"Anything, Kain," the Elder responded with honest warmth.

"The Hallowed One," Kain began. "Does that refer to a specific Magus? Or something else entirely?"

"Ah, yes, another miscarriage of old Mysidian ideology," the Elder replied, shaking his head at the sadness such twisted thinking engendered. He directed Kain's attention to the pillar in the clearing, waving his hand at it, tracing his fingers around lines of etched runes. "This pillar was constructed by the last Magus of Mysidia, 500 years or so ago. His madness eventually led the people of Mysidia to revolt against the Magi, and he was excommunicated from the village…our first apostate. He was intent on corrupting the Lunarian shrine by forcing himself inside without the blessing of the light. The runes on this pillar describe the path to Aevum, the eternal paradise, and through the sacrifice of one's mortal shell it is said that the spirit can travel freely to bend the world to one's will. The villagers eventually found the Magus's charred body, fused to the stone. These apostates apparently assumed that they could bring him back with the same incantations. Whether or not it would have worked, I hope to never know."

"What was the Magus's name?" Kain asked, trying not to seem too desperate for an answer he already knew.

"His name was Erasmus," the Elder replied. "He was known as Erasmus the Wise, although as he lost himself in madness he began referring to himself as Erasmus the All Knowing, claiming that he could see the future, and that Mysidia would soon cease to exist. It seems he was right, in a way. The faith and tenets of our people underwent a tidal shift from that point on, as we returned to a simpler life of peace and salvation from those that came before us."

"Hmm…" Kain let an unsettling breath vibrate his throat as the muscles in his cheeks tightened. The Elder again did not pick up on it, but he did notice the awkward halt in the conversation. Something about the brief pause dislodged a memory from the battle, which caused the Elder to pose a question.

"Kain, the apostate's last words…" he began, as though he were trying to recall the scene. "What did he say? You appeared to—"

"We should be going," Kain brushed the question aside as he walked over to the Elder, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I do not wish to waste another moment."

**:::**

"The Queen will see you now, Lady Ambassador."

The doors of the antechamber opened with a magnificent hum, their resounding vibration a reminder of the strength of the kingdom of Baron. It had been nearly two years since Rydia had passed through these doors when she attended the coronation and subsequent wedding of Cecil and Rosa. The throne room still radiated a majestic aura of red and gold heraldry, contrasting sharply with the bold ocean blue of the royal guards that opened the doors and led them inside. Like a road paved with roses, one's eyes were naturally drawn up the carpet to the two shimmering gold thrones at the end, where a flowing white robe sheathed a beautiful warrior, her smile as glorious as Rydia remembered.

"Rydia, it really is you!" Rosa exclaimed excitedly as she immediately stood and strode quickly down the carpet to greet her. Rydia was overjoyed as Rosa's arms wrapped around her, a warmth like none other in their embrace. Rosa only let go when she noticed the dashing young man that was with her long lost friend. "I'm sorry, how rude of me. I see you have brought a guest."

"It is quite alright, Your Highness," Agleson bowed with grace.

"I warned him we might get a bit mushy after such a lengthy absence," Rydia teased with a smile. "This is Agleson Ardwick, a bard from Damcyan. I met him in Agart, from where we have just arrived."

"Sir Ardwick, it is a pleasure to meet you," Rosa offered with a curtsey.

"The pleasure is mine, Your Highness," Agleson responded warmly.

"Come, let us speak in private," Rosa offered with a wave of her hand towards a door on the west wall of the throne room.

"May Agleson join us? There are urgent matters that affect him, as well." Rydia asked, knowing well that Rosa would oblige.

"Of course," Rosa smiled, nodding at the bard. "Any friend of our dearest Rydia is a friend of mine. And I must say you two look quite fetching together in those matching outfits."

Rydia blushed as she followed Rosa to the chamber door, glancing down at her bard clothing, the only clean attire that had been available aboard the ship that Agleson's troupe had brought from Damcyan. From the red leather slippers, to the red silk, knee-length skirt and matching sleeveless petticoat, she felt incredibly awkward, despite the comfortable grip of the fabric on her skin. It was a far cry from her typical garb, but it was either this or try to fit back into the blood-stained gown from the banquet, or perhaps worse, the clothes that the sailors wore. She had pinned the ruby brooch to the base of a loose ponytail that held her lush green curls in a single stream rushing down her back, the gold chocobo feathers still holding tight as they would in a true bard's cap.

"Thanks, Rosa," Rydia replied with a smile. "My wardrobe is, unfortunately, still in Agart."

"I'm excited to hear of your journey and why you've been in Agart, of all places," Rosa said as they strolled casually between the columns of the throne room. "And I'm surprised that you don't appear to have aged at all, despite being in the underworld for so long."

"King Leviathan graciously agreed to alter the flow of time in the Summoned Lands," Rydia explained, realizing that her friends would likely have expected her to be middle aged by now. "With the war over, there was no need for him to accelerate time to continue my training. When I decided to stay with them in the underworld, my only condition was that I would still be able to see my friends without worrying about losing so much of my life every time that I left. He was happy to oblige, as time means little to immortal spirits."

"Yes, I suppose that is true. Well I am glad that they made you feel comfortable and at home there," Rosa said as she pushed the wooden chamber door, the groan of the old hinges suffering as it swung into the room.

The room was filled with the light of day, as the entire west wall was open from waist-height up to the ceiling, only a few columns holding up the roof like a stone awning. It seemed more like a balcony than a meeting room, which made it that much more pleasant and inviting. The aroma of the forests mixed with the tinge of smithy forges and baking ovens swept through the room, gently caressing the vines of ivy spilling down the walls. It was natural and beautiful. A white marble long table was surrounded by six white-steel chairs with plush red-velvet cushions. Rydia and Agleson both stole a moment to take in the view, overlooking the lands of the kingdom, the pleasant village just outside the castle walls. Rydia wished she had the time to show Agleson what felt like her second home. But as Rosa closed the door, they turned and took their seats at the table.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Rydia," Rosa began, looking almost as though she might cry from the joy. "It has been a trying few weeks in the kingdom, and I'm barely keeping it together in Cecil's absence. It is comforting knowing I have a friend I can truly talk to again."

"Cecil is gone?" Rydia said worriedly.

"None to worry, he is currently in Mysidia dealing with urgent matters, and has been for a fortnight," Rosa said with a sad laugh as she wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry if I scared you, I've been rather emotional lately."

"That is a relief," Rydia said with a smile, reaching a hand to Rosa's to comfort her. "What business in Mysidia has stolen Cecil away from the kingdom for so long?"

"He has gone to meet his mother," Rosa replied, her face anticipating the response that began with Rydia withdrawing her hand in shock.

"His…mother?" she begged for explanation, her eyes wide with intrigue.

"Am I missing something?" Agleson piped in, eyebrow quirked between the two women looking for some reason to also feel as shocked as they seemed. "Is there a reason we should all be so surprised?"

"Cecil was an orphan, taken in by the royal family here in Baron at the time," Rydia turned to him to explain. "He never met his real parents, although…" Rydia cast a nervous glance towards Rosa, not sure if she should reveal the secret of his Lunarian heritage. Rosa gave her a knowing smile, reminding the summoner to tread lightly around the subject. "During the war he met his father…or rather the spirit of his father."

"You mean the light on Mount Ordeals?" Agleson suddenly became excited, as though he had discovered the key to unlock a valuable treasure. "So the rumors are true?"

"Rumors?" Rosa inquired, a bit stunned of the news that some underground gossip was circulating about her husband. The story of Cecil's journey through the war—his transformation on Mount Ordeals, his unification of all the great nations against Golbez, his journey to the moon to stop Zemus—was widely spread and heralded in the two years since the end of the war. The secret of his ties to the Lunarians, however, had not been shared with anyone outside of the five saviors that returned and a small group of trusted friends that Cecil had cultivated throughout his journey, including the Elder of Mysidia, who swore to keep the secret until Cecil was ready to inform his people. This had been a struggle for the Paladin King, as he knew so little of his own history, and questions of what such information would do to his credibility as King of Baron were often overwhelming. But the longer he waited, the more he feared the secret would reveal itself before he could make any kind of formal announcement.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Agleson suddenly shrank back into his seat, feeling as though he had just tread upon forbidden ground. "As a bard, I hear things during my travels. It is a part of my lifestyle to take what I hear and weave them into folktales and songs, poetry and prose. There are some who believe King Cecil to be a being from the moon, the moon that disappeared after the war."

"Well then I suppose there is no sense beating around the bush," Rosa sighed, hoping that Cecil would forgive her for breaking the silence. She gave Rydia a beseeching stare as she continued to speak. "Do you trust this man, Rydia?"

"I do," Rydia resolutely responded. She looked back at Agleson and was met with a genuine smile of affection. "He saved my life, and without him I would not be sitting with you now. He can be trusted."

"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room, Sir Ardwick," Rosa gave him a firm glare, and he nodded quickly in agreement. He had also heard and written many tales of Queen Rosa's strength in battle, and dared not cross her now or ever, lest he find himself with another arrow in his chest.

"You have my word, Your Highness."

"Cecil is indeed of Lunarian descent," she started with the heart of the matter. She went on to explain how Cecil learned of his heritage throughout his travels during the war: speaking with his father on Mt. Ordeals; speaking with his uncle on the moon. "However, there was no mention of his mother, and her whereabouts have been unknown until Cecil received a letter from Mysidia just over two weeks ago. Cecil has assured me in several letters since that the reasons for her absence are unimportant, and I believe he is finally getting the answers to his life that he rightfully deserves."

"This is incredible, Your Highness," Agleson said with awe. "But this information is hardly damning to his reputation. He still saved the planet from certain destruction."

"What _is_ damning, Sir Ardwick, is that the man who plunged this world into the war was not just some megalomaniac bent on world domination, as many of the stories would have you believe," Rosa continued, trying to emphasize the invalidation of the world's perception of the man clad in darkness. "Golbez, the Dark Lord, the Scourge of the Crystal Wars, whatever you wish to call him…he was Cecil's brother."

The silence between them was palpable, the tinny ring of a smith's hammer hitting an anvil carried up from below, followed by the screech of a falcon riding a thermal around one of the castle spires. Had Agleson's jaw dropped any farther his tongue would have rolled out, had his eyes been any wider they would have been ejected from their sockets. Rydia took her hand and placed it under his chin, lifting it slowly to close his gaping lips, quickly breaking his fit of shock.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, forgive my stupor," Agleson managed through his air dried throat. "That is a rather startling piece of information, and it is quite clear now why you would want to keep such a secret close to the vest."

"I'm glad you understand," Rosa replied with a smile. "When Cecil is ready to let the world know about his family ties, he will take the risk. But it must be his choice and on his terms."

"I agree, no one should be blindsided by such an underhanded assault," Agleson responded, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the Queen. "I'm sorry to have sidetracked our previous conversation, please continue."

"We can discuss more about Cecil and his mother at another time," Rosa turned her attention back to the green-haired summoner across the table from her, releasing that smile of a loving mother that always made Rydia feel safe and at home. "Please tell me what brings you back to us. Happy does not even begin to explain how I felt when I heard that you had arrived this morning."

Rydia had answered this question so many times since she first set foot in King Leviathan's throne room, informing him of her decision to leave. The answer had been so amorphous for much of that time, although it had become clearer since she met Agleson. But at this moment, faced with Rosa's radiant, joyful effervescence, it seemed to crystallize in her mind, and she knew why she had come.

"This…" Rydia said, her grin contrasting against the red in her eyes as they welled, tears begging to be set free. "This is why I came back. To have friends and family to talk to, to be a part of something exciting and joyful and chaotic…something human again. I miss you and Cecil, and everyone else. I miss all of this. So much of my life was spent in the underworld, and I thought that was where I belonged, but it's not. _This_ is where I belong."

Both Rydia and Rosa were on the verge of tears at this point, and Agleson was amazed at the emotion he saw pouring out of the woman with which he had spent the last two weeks. They had shared so much with each other, but this connection that Rydia shared with Rosa was something stronger than he had ever experienced. He began to see a side of her that made him want to open his heart to her even more.

"We have missed you, too, Rydia," Rosa said as she wiped a few tears away. "And you will always have a home here with us. We even kept the room you stayed in during the wedding reserved in case you ever decided to return. It is yours for as long as you wish."

"Thank you," Rydia beamed as she stole the last few tears from her cheek with her thumb. "But there is also another matter, and unfortunately not as joyful. Agleson and I have just fled from Agart under duress, and we have good reason to believe that there is treachery afoot there."

"We just entertained King Hector and the nobility of Agart here a few weeks ago," Rosa replied, stunned at the thought of any of the pleasant people she met showing a second face. "They all seemed eager to please, still gaining their footing as a fledgling kingdom. I can't imagine any of them causing trouble."

"We do not place any blame on King Hector, for he was the one that helped us escape," Agleson replied, assuring Rosa that her judgment was not entirely off. "It is his brother, Philip, who we believe to be a danger to those around him. He attempted to assassinate Rydia during a banquet last week."

"What?!" Rosa was taken aback, her hand pressed against her chest as she reeled in shock.

"It is true, and we are concerned that he is not alone," Rydia added, gesturing to Agleson to retrieve the crossbow bolt from his satchel. He pulled out the dagger-like arrow and handed it to Rydia, who laid it upon the table with the coat of arms facing up as she slid it across to Rosa. "This is the arrow that was intended for me. Agleson heroically took the arrow himself to save me. That coats of arms closely resembles a clan from the dwarven village of Tomera, a herald with which Philip seems to claim proudly. The only difference is the crest of the dragon, which we could not associate with any specific clan. We were hoping that Cid could provide some assistance with this."

"I'm afraid Cid is away, as well," Rosa responded sadly. "He finally took to retirement after the war and has been spending his days traveling the world with his daughter. They just left for the underworld a week ago."

"What dreadful timing," Rydia responded with a sigh of frustration. "Are there any scholars here that are well versed in dwarven history?"

"I can certainly take this to the library and ask them to investigate," Rosa offered, hoping that it would be enough to dig up some valuable answers.

"Any fresh eyes would be of great help," Agleson replied, giving Rydia a grin to try and lift her spirits. "We've been going mad trying to figure it out ourselves."

"And that's not the only enigma that has us so frustrated," Rydia cast her worried eyes quickly to Agleson's shoulder before turning them back to Rosa. "If you flip the arrowhead over, you will find a rune inscribed upon the blade."

Rosa reached out and curled her fingers around the slender shaft of the bolt, gently lifting and twisting it to reveal the still glowing symbol: an inverted triangle inside a circle, its three corners touching the circumference; two concentric circles evenly spaced on the outside; within the triangle an illegible sigil. She brought it closer to examine it, hoping she might recognize something in the lines, or possibly feel a familiar magical energy about it. The furrow in her brow gave away her own frustration in her inability to decipher its meaning. She laid it down with a defeated sigh.

"It does not resemble any white magic that I recognize," Rosa spoke with a bit of worry. "And you did not recognize it as black magic?"

"No," Rydia responded sadly. "And what is worse is that it has left Agleson with a strange wound that will not heal. Luckily it has not grown worse during our travels, but it has also not healed naturally."

"That is strange," Rosa responded. "May I see the wound?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Agleson offered as he stood to walk around the table for a closer examination. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and vest to pull the clothing down over his left shoulder, the gash still fresh and unchanged. Rosa looked at it carefully, but dared not touch it. She cast her eyes back to Rydia.

"And you tried healing tonics?" Rosa asked.

"We used an elixir, which seemed to heal everything except the open wound itself," Rydia explained.

"Physically, I feel fine," Agleson added. "I feel no pain emanating from the wound, and it has not resumed bleeding since. It is just strange that the wound itself will not close and heal properly. There must be something behind the magic in that rune that is preventing it."

"I assumed that if any healer could handle this task it would be you," Rydia said with hope and a smile.

"I will certainly try, but I would like our circle of mages to examine the rune before I try anything," Rosa responded, a bit hesitant to attempt a healing spell immediately without any knowledge of the magic behind the strange wound. "Thank you, Sir Ardwick, as you were. If your wound is not grievous or immediately life threatening then I hope you can wait just a bit longer."

"I see no reason why that would be a problem," Agleson responded as he buttoned his clothes and resumed his seat at Rydia's side. "I have enjoyed teasing Rydia with it from time to time. It apparently makes her a bit squeamish."

"It does not!" Rydia slapped Agleson on the arm before he had a chance to defend himself, giving him a playful look of anger. "It's just not something that I _want_ to look at. I don't know anyone that would _want_ to look at a festering wound."

"Hey, it's not festering!" Agleson came back with a smile. "If anything it adds a nice flourish of color to my otherwise pallid complexion. Perhaps I don't wish it to be healed at all, so that I might begin a new statement in fashion. Fresh wounds will be the all the rage throughout every kingdom!"

"And then everyone will succumb to disease and plague!" Rydia parried and thrust. "You'll be responsible for the mass extinction of the human race!"

"My, you two certainly are cute together," Rosa chimed in, a smile on her face that caused both Rydia and Agleson to withdraw with sheepish smiles and rosy cheeks. "No need to be shy about it. I could tell there was something between you two when you first set foot in the throne room."

"Very little escapes your intuition, Your Highness," Agleson responded with a chuckle as he reached his hand over to Rydia, their fingers intertwining in her lap. "I care for her a great deal, more so every day that I know her."

Rosa continued to smile as she eyed Agleson and Rydia together. She could sense a great deal of compassion emanating from Agleson, and much of it was returned by Rydia. But there also seemed to be something in Rydia that was holding her back from freely giving all of her heart to the man beside her.

"Sir Ardwick, if you don't mind, I would like a few moments alone with Rydia," Rosa asked politely. Rydia's eyes seemed to twinkle in appreciation for the request. "Girl talk."

"As you wish, Your Highness," Agleson replied with a knowing smile, standing and bowing before making his way for the door. "Shall I wait in the antechamber, or may I be escorted to our…or…um, my room?"

"Will you two be sharing a room?" Rosa asked her green-haired friend, getting a bit of girlish glee from the romantic tension that was only growing thicker.

"I suppose we have already shared a bed for a week now," Rydia admitted, to which Rosa had to bite her tongue to contain her mirth, lips tucked to hide an eager smile. "There is no sense in separating us now."

"I'm really feeling the love here, Rye Rye," Agleson quipped, knowing well that Rydia was simply overwhelmed with diffidence. When Rydia narrowed her eyes at him, he returned it with a wink and a smile.

"The Royal Guard will escort you to the room," Rosa informed him. "Do not worry, I will not keep her from you for long."

"Much obliged, Your Highness," Agleson responded with another bow. "It has been a pleasure speaking with you."

"And I with you, Sir Ardwick," Rosa replied. Agleson opened the chamber door and slid out of the room, the wind the only sound as it curled around the columns holding the stone roof over their heads. A small bird alighted on the balcony railing and called out to its mate before fluttering off again.

"So…is it safe to say that you are in love, my dear Rydia?" Rosa began with an arrow straight to the heart of the issue. Her aim in conversation was as sharp as in battle, it seemed.

"I don't know," Rydia confessed, a half smile breaking free through her timid nerves. "When I am with him, I feel safe. It is a similar feeling that I get when I am with you and Cecil, yet I have only known him for two weeks. Is it right to feel this way about someone so swiftly?"

"Don't think of it as right or wrong, Rydia," Rosa pleaded with a soft, friendly voice. "Love is one of those intangible forces that is rarely understood. It can be overwhelming, and the fact that you are unsure of your feelings only means that you are human."

"Was it like this for you and Cecil?" Rydia asked. "You knew for a long time that you were meant to be together. It seemed so natural."

"When you met us we had already been together for over a year," Rosa reminded the summoner. "We had become quite comfortable with our relationship. You, my dear, are just beginning to delve into this new intimacy. The feelings will be tumultuous and enigmatic, at first. But isn't that what you said you wanted? What you missed? An exciting, chaotic life?"

"I suppose you're right," Rydia confessed, realizing that she had indeed wanted something other than the orderly world of the Summoned Lands. Humans were so naturally irrational that order could never be maintained for long, which always led to some exciting new adventure. Love was turning out to be its own novel foray into chaos. "I think I love him, Rosa."

"I am so happy for you!" Rosa was brimming with joy as she clapped her hands together excitedly. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help make you and Agleson more comfortable. I can have wine and scented candles delivered to your room tonight!"

"No, please!" Rydia blurted out, not entirely sure she was ready to commit to such a romantic evening. "I'm sorry, I just…we have been taking things slowly."

"A handsome man like that needs to be tied down quickly, Rydia," Rosa joked with a wink. "Figuratively _and_ literally!"

"Rosa!" Rydia blanched at the thought. "There will be none of that this evening, I assure you!"

"I see," Rosa laughed. "Well if you change your mind, I have some expertise in that area, as well."

Rydia's cheeks couldn't possibly have been any redder.

**:::**

Cecil observed the ancient markings on the sandstone walls of the tower stairwell, many of them glowing in soft hues, while others were simple etchings filled with shadows. One in particular was carved directly into the first step of the spiral staircase, but the language was not one with which he was familiar, nor were any of the runes for that matter. He cursed himself for not being more well versed in magical tongues, but he still was drawn to the beauty of their intricacy. These were not quick and simple scrawls of random vandals, but were painstakingly worked into the stone with reverent precision.

The sound of the heavy wooden door being forced open behind him drew his attention away as the man he had been longing to speak to entered the tower. He seemed almost in a panic, but Cecil did not sense it was out of fear. The look on the Elder's face seemed to suggest that whatever he was after, it was urgent, and when his eyes lit up upon seeing Cecil, he knew that he had found what he was looking for.

"Cecil, I am glad you are here, you must come with me," the Elder was nearly out of breath, as though he had been running or just cast a heavily draining spell.

"Wait!" Cecil demanded, a bit confused and frustrated that he was not allowed to finally converse with the Elder about his mother's revelations. "I have been waiting to speak to you for some time, Elder. There are some things that we must discuss."

"Cecil, please," the Elder once again pleaded.

"That is not my name!" Cecil said with resounding authority, like a verbal shockwave coursing through the room. The Elder stopped his frantic behavior and searched the Paladin King's eyes for what was behind the outburst, and what he saw was apparently important enough to shut the door, ensuring the conversation they were about to have would be private. "I am sorry, Elder, but I have learned things about myself that need to be sorted out, and I cannot do it alone."

"I see," the Elder responded quietly. "Forgive me for being so presumptuous."

"It is fine," said Cecil, softer than before as he accepted the apology. "What has kept you away from the village for so long?"

"That can wait," the Elder replied. "Please tell me what new information you have learned from your mother. What name should I now call you?"

"SeSol," Cecil responded proudly. "SeSolYa. It means Sacred Son of Light."

"It seems fitting. This should only help to confirm your role in the Mysidian Legend," the Elder responded, though he could see something else lurking in the man's eyes. "But it seems it has only caused more confusion. The answers you have been seeking are only brooding more questions, yes?"

"You said before that it was _my_ legacy, _my_ responsibility to protect this world from evil," Cecil replied with a tinge of sadness. "It appears we have all been misguided."

"How so?" the Elder asked, confused and concerned.

"I was never intended to be the savior of the planet," Cecil answered. "It was my brother, the one you know as Golbez. He is the one spoken of in the Mysidian Legend."

"What?!" the Elder was shocked, having been so sure for so long that Cecil was the guiding light of the old legends.

"He was trained by my father to defend this planet from the likes of Zemus," Cecil continued. "But Zemus was able to corrupt his mind and turn him against us. I was given the power of light only out of desperation to stop him. I was supposed to live a normal life, free of such burdens. And now you tell me that another threat looms, and that it is my responsibility once again to stop it. How can I, knowing what I know now? Or more importantly, _why_ should I?"

The Elder was pensive, eyeing Cecil carefully as he thought about his next words. He could see a great struggle within the Paladin, nearly as great as when he first came to him as a dark knight. This information was also difficult for the Elder to swallow, as it went against the very beliefs for which he prayed every day. The Elder was far from a stubborn zealot, however, and he felt no other course to take than to take this in stride.

"SeSol," the Elder spoke the Paladin's true name with humble reverence. "Despite what this new information may cause you to feel, it does not change the fact that you _are_ the sacred light. You chose this life. You could have let yourself perish in defeat on many occasions, but you fought for what was right and just."

"And I have earned the right to choose a new life for myself," Cecil replied. "If there is indeed a new threat to this world, it will be up to the world to defend against it. I have a kingdom, a home, and a family to think about now, and I will not leave them behind without any assurance of my safe return."

"You are right, SeSol," the Elder confessed. "Your path in life is ultimately your choice, and you have every right to follow one with more stability. But this will affect everyone, and eventually this choice will be much more difficult to make."

"I believe I can accept that," Cecil replied confidently. "When that day comes I will have clarity in knowing I'm making the right decision."

"You have changed, SeSol," the Elder noticed. "Do not take that as a criticism, for I believe you are beginning to understand yourself better than you ever have. Allow me to show you something."

The Elder gently guided Cecil over to the staircase, pointing to the inscription on the first step.

"Do you know what this says?"

"Sadly, no," Cecil confessed. "I've been observing these markings. I've felt drawn to them. This one in particular. What does it mean?"

"It is written in an old Mysidian language, long dead now," the Elder replied. "Many centuries ago, when Mysidia was ruled by powerful mages known as the Magi, they honored themselves by etching words of wisdom into the tower walls. This ritual ended with the last Magi 500 years ago, and he carved the words you see on this first step. It is a guiding phrase for any that wish to enter the tower. It reads: Gnothi Se Auton. It means Know Thy Self."

"Wise words, indeed," Cecil whispered.

"It was written by a man called Erasmus the Wise, who believed he knew everything about the world around him," the Elder continued. "But above all, he professed that one must know themselves before they can truly be a complete being."

"Then you see why I cannot possibly enter another war," said Cecil. "If I do not know myself fully, then I cannot be prepared to face another enemy."

"I agree," the Elder replied sadly. "I only hope that you can find what you need before it is too late."

"Know that even in finding peace with who I am, I still may choose not to engage the looming threat."

"I understand," the Elder responded, his eyes downcast, tracing the letters inscribed upon the stair. "I read this phrase every time that I enter the tower, as a reassurance that I am following the path that was intended for me. When the Lunarian moon disappeared, my people began to panic, for it was the idol that we worshipped throughout our lives. I had to search my own soul for the answers to give to the Mysidians. I relived my past journeys, my own trials that led me to where I am today."

Cecil listened reverently as the Elder gave up pieces of himself that never been shared, and it made him feel that much closer to the old soul. Despite his current crisis of faith, Cecil knew that the Elder was genuine, that he wouldn't push this issue if he didn't believe it with every fiber of his being. But then that was the problem. Cecil didn't believe. The Elder continued as Cecil looked on, torchlight flickering across their faces.

"You refer to me as Elder, and have known me by no other name. When one becomes an Elder, we forsake our names out of humility and as recognition of the hubris of the Magi. Before I became the Elder, I was known as Delphi the Oracle. My ability to see and comprehend visions of guidance made me a natural leader for my people. I knew this about myself, and even in the face of a fragile faith after the moon's departure, I continued to guide my people. I hope you will continue to guide the world with your light."

"I appreciate you telling me this, Elder," Cecil said with genuine care. "I do not want you to think I would forsake the world for selfish reasons. I will always welcome your guidance, and if there is one thing I know for certain about myself, it is that I will stop at nothing to protect the people that I love and care about. That includes you and the people of Mysidia."

"Thank you, SeSol," the Elder responded kindly. "I suppose that is as much as I can request for the time being. We will talk more later, but now there is someone else who requires your attention."

"Has my mother awakened?" Cecil's eyes were wide with anticipation.

"No, I'm sorry," said the Elder, watching Cecil's posture deflate at the news. "Someone has come to see you."

"Who?"

"Someone who needs you now, more than ever."

 


	13. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Kain finally reunite. Agleson tells Rydia a story over dinner.

Stepping outside into the bright, midday sun, Cecil saw a village bustling with activity as the Mysidians went about their daily lives. He lifted a hand over his eyes as they adjusted to the vivid splashes of sunlight that beamed from every surface. It was a beautiful, clear day, with various exotic plants and potted flowers sprinkled throughout the village peeking around sandstone corners, climbing up bamboo lattice walls, lush and vibrant after the rain just before sunrise that morning. The smell of potent potions wafted from the alchemist's shop, and the sound of children playing outside the orphanage reminded Cecil that despite the efforts of the dark forces that had once waylaid this pleasant life, it had carried on.

Behind him stood the Mysidian Abbey, the building that surrounded the Tower of Prayers like a stone guardian. It was an imposing sandstone edifice, despite the lack of extravagant trimmings. What caught the eye were the waves of shaded sedimentary layers drawn across the walls and arches with elegant strokes of nature's paintbrush. The smooth, angled archways seemed to bow humbly with open doors welcoming into libraries, studies, classrooms, and deeper within, the Great Crystal Chamber. How Baron had desecrated these holy halls so many years ago, Cecil would never forget. But he felt confident now that that was never the person he truly was, that the dark flame once within him had been thoroughly snuffed out. Seeing the Mysidians return to their faith and practice of magics was inspiring, and he smiled as his eyes fully adjusted to the light so that he could see the world clearly laid out before him. He turned his head gently to his shoulder as he felt the hand of the Elder land softly upon it.

"He waits for you by the well in the southeast corner of the village," the Elder spoke with a hint of excitement. Cecil imagined that the Elder had foreseen this reunion, but he pushed that out of his mind to focus on the moment. He turned his eyes in the direction of the well, seeing the top of the winch and its wooden frame down a dirt path on the other side of the town square. A large oak tree stood just beyond that, like a magnificent hand reaching over the great wall that lined the village perimeter. There were too many people to see the well itself, or anyone that might be waiting for him there.

"Thank you, Elder," Cecil replied as he took his first steps away from the Abbey down the path towards something he wasn't entirely sure he was prepared for. The Elder watched as the Paladin King strode with slow confidence into the swirling mass of townsfolk, a knowing smile lifting his long beard slightly.

As Cecil parted the crowd, the path before him revealed more and more: the smooth cobblestones arranged in a gray, dimpled cylinder; a glint of blue light reflected from a crystal spear leaning against the wall of the well; a strong man bent over a wash basin near the well, scrubbing the wear of travel from his armored body. When he was within earshot, Cecil could hear the splash of sponge dropping into the basin followed by drips of cool well water as it was lifted to the warm, sun-kissed steel. The sponge was then dropped for the last time as the man dipped both of his hands into the water like a cup and splashed some upon his face before reaching for a damp rag to wipe the filth away. Cecil stopped next to the well, glancing briefly at the spear and dragon's head helmet, shining bright with renewal. His attention was drawn away when the man finally acknowledged his presence, never turning to face him, hands still resting on the edge of the basin.

"Cecil…" Kain spoke with the same emotionless tone that had been entrained in him over the last two years of solitude. Cecil noticed that he seemed to catch himself, a slight shake of his head and a brief sigh. It was clearly an uncomfortable moment for him, but he tried to sound a bit happier with his next words. "I'm…glad you came."

"I'm glad you're here, too, Kain" Cecil responded, hoping the words sounded as genuine as he felt them in his heart. The silence between them that followed filtered out all of the ambience, as though the village around them had vanished. Kain finally stood upright and turned to face the man he had once called a friend, a rival, a mortal enemy.

Cecil could see the anxiety of this conflict in his bold, blue eyes, despite the dragon knight's stone-set face, the strong jaw freckled with sun-bleached stubble on his tanned skin. A trail of water ran down the side of his cheek from his dampened blonde hair, swept back to curve down to his shoulders. Cecil had always been able to see through the layers; no matter how hard Kain tried, his hardened exterior always betrayed his life's wounds.

Nothing was said for some time, the two men simply staring at each other across the wind-swept space, leaf-litter crawling across the grass at their feet. Kain's face never changed, but Cecil couldn't help letting a smile break out before taking a step forward and extending a welcoming hand. Kain's eyes diverted to the offering, pondering its implications before reaching out and accepting it with a firm grip, the feel of his leathery skin against Cecil's soft palm a strange sensation, both alien and comforting.

Another moment of awkward silence pursued them as they stood with hands locked, until Cecil unexpectedly pulled hard, drawing Kain into an embrace. Cecil couldn't help but close his eyes as the emotions began welling up, so much pent up expectation of their reunion coursing through him. Kain was still wide-eyed with surprise, feeling Cecil's arm around him leaving him somewhat unsettled. But he reluctantly gave in and put his arm around him with a quick pat on the shoulder before trying to step back. Cecil allowed him to retreat, and they once again stood before each other, eyes speaking words that were never said.

"Kain, I…" Cecil stammered as he struggled to pull anything out to break the silence. "I don't know what to say. It has been so long."

"Yes, it has…" Kain replied, giving no indication that he had any way of moving the conversation forward. He nervously shifted his weight and reached his hand up to rub the back of his neck, as though something rather important was itching to burst from him. He could only manage a sarcastic response. "Unfortunately, my penchant for maintaining conversation has only improved since we last met."

"Ah, I see…" Cecil said with a humorous smile. "Well, I suppose I can't ask for too much too soon. Just getting to see you is a most pleasant surprise."

"For me, as well," Kain responded stoically. "I have…many things to tell you."

"Well don't say them all at once," Cecil joked, trying to get some kind of response from Kain's stagnant face. Cecil could tell he had something to say, but was cautiously calculating the words to ensure they came out right. This had become a part of his persona, Cecil had realized, after he was finally freed from Golbez's dark magic, as he struggled to cope with thoughts that undoubtedly still haunted him to this day.

"Hmm…" Kain grumbled a bit as he glanced away before a slight smile crept into the corner of his cheek. Cecil wondered what he was thinking. "Perhaps…"

"Perhaps what?" Cecil asked with excited impatience.

"Do the Knighthoods of Baron still subscribe to the Probos Inceptivus?" Kain asked, turning to look at Cecil once more, his sly smile still stretched upon his lips. Cecil's eyebrow quirked with intrigue.

In Baron, young recruits to the various orders all go through an unspoken rite of passage called the Probos Inceptivus, although now it was simply called The Proving. While not officially sanctioned by the military leadership, it was a tradition that had become fully naturalized in the initiation process. All soldiers had to prove themselves in basic strength and agility exercises to even be considered for training in one of the military branches, but once within the ranks one had to prove themselves to their new brethren before they could be accepted socially into their circles. Indeed, most recruits would be denied any kind of verbal acknowledgment without going through The Proving.

To reach this unspoken inner circle, a new recruit would have to openly challenge a superior in hand-to-hand combat; the higher the rank, the greater the respect if the recruit could best him or her. Cecil and Kain had both challenged the highest-ranking commanding officer of their respective guilds in hopes of garnering the respect and notoriety of all within the kingdom. Cecil had succeeded where Kain had failed, a fact that the dragon knight had allowed to burn in the recesses of his envy for far too long.

"They do," Cecil responded with a knowing grin. "Are you extending a challenge?"

"I am," Kain replied, finally showing a smile that Cecil felt he had not seen in much longer than two years. "First to the ground or brought to a knee. Shall I remove my armor to make it easier for you?"

"Keep it," Cecil parried the remark, still smiling as he removed his cape from his pauldrons and began to stretch his arms. "I don't want to hear any excuses when you're lying flat on your back in a few moments."

Cecil knew well enough that Kain was looking for some avenue of reconnection, something to break the tension and allow their conversation to begin flowing naturally. It seemed fitting that two knights long parted should rely on tradition to begin rebuilding the bonds of brotherhood. But Cecil also knew that he was at a serious disadvantage in this particular skirmish. While Kain had obviously been rigorously training for the last two years, Cecil had been busy playing politics, finding less and less time to steal away for his own fitness regimen. The dragon knight's armor would indeed make it more difficult to bring him to the ground, but Cecil hoped that his own lack of bulky plates would grant him the agility to compensate. Cecil's ornamental breastplate was light and thin, his only other armor being a pair of grieves over his leather boots and vambraces over his forearms, both made of polished ivory and gold. His pure silk vestments were tucked tightly in neat folds beneath the armor, its shimmering silver matching the curtain of his hair, glinting in the sunlight.

Kain knew well enough that Cecil was ill-prepared for this, but was pleased to see his enthusiasm for the fight. He could feel the muscles in his lean build warming up as he tensed and released, his body feeling light as a feather. As he watched Cecil stretch, he noticed immediately how slow and disorganized the Paladin King's muscles moved, how far he had fallen from his peak condition during the war. But he also knew that Cecil was still physically stronger, being slightly taller and much heavier with his broad warrior's frame. He also remembered vividly that Cecil had once been considered a legend in close-quarters combat, and that he could utilize many maneuvers for felling opponents. The extra weight from his armor would give him the advantage, especially since he had become so comfortable within it, but Kain could not take this challenge lightly, for he knew that Cecil would not take it easy on him. Kain grinned as Cecil finally finished warming up and assumed a defensive stance, legs arched, hands held out in front of him as though he would grapple the air.

"You seem eager to fall at my feet, Cecil," Kain jokingly threatened, still grinning. Cecil just huffed with a friendly chuckle, shaking his head with a smile in kind.

"We'll see."

Cecil sprang forth quickly, hoping to catch Kain off guard as he reeled back his right arm to deliver a stunning blow. What he couldn't have foreseen was the dragon knight's incredible agility, as Kain easily sidestepped the lunging Paladin, who nearly wound up face first in the wash basin. He caught himself and quickly spun around to see Kain still grinning, a look of confidence that Cecil suddenly felt the urge to wipe off of the man's face.

Kain then bent his knees quickly before taking to the air, his fingers intertwined as he brought his hands together above his head, preparing to swing them down like a hammer. Cecil was just quick enough to dash out of the way as Kain's forceful blow split the wash basin in half in a wet explosion of soil and splinter. The crack of the wood was not unlike a tree being felled in the woods, and the commotion was beginning to draw the attention of the townsfolk, as well as Cecil's royal guards making rounds through the village.

"Halt! You there!" yelled one of the guards, brandishing his sword as he huffed in his heavy bronze armor. "No one threatens the King of Baron! Surrender now or—"

"As you were, Commander Serranis!" Cecil commanded, holding out a hand to stop the guards from approaching further. "This man intends me no harm. We are simply…getting reacquainted."

The guards looked perplexed as they shifted their gaze back and forth from Cecil to Kain, wondering what type of game was at play here. Cecil gave the Commander a smile and a nod, insisting that they be on their way. The guards reluctantly sheathed their blades, but not before flashing haughty smirks in Kain's direction as they turned away. The guards quickly found themselves facing down a throng of curious Mysidians, and they instinctively began their crowd control procedures, trying to disperse the mob and get them back to whatever they were doing.

"I see the Royal Guard are still as arrogant and eager to prove as I remember," Kain commented sarcastically.

"Eager for action of any kind, really," Cecil admitted. "Two years of peace gets rather tedious for the soldiers."

"Shall we continue?" asked Kain, sun shining in hundreds of water droplets splattered across his armor.

"Absolutely," Cecil replied as he resumed his battle stance. "But let us try to keep the property damage to a minimum, shall we?"

"I make no promises," Kain shot back before dashing towards Cecil with the swiftness of a sparrow. Cecil was caught this time, realizing he had no hope of evading the clash, so he instead bared down and stood his ground. Their palms met with a furious smack, and despite Cecil's back leg digging into the dirt, he was still pushed back several feet. With their arms locked, each man pushing with everything they had against the other, they found themselves in a stalemate. They both stared confidently at each other as the muscles throughout their bodies rippled, cocky grins mirrored between them. But beads of sweat soon began cropping up on Cecil's face as his stamina quickly drained whereas Kain appeared steadfast and calm. Normally, Cecil would have easily overpowered Kain in this situation, but it quickly became obvious that things had changed over the years.

Cecil had to think fast, for one of his few advantages had seemingly dissipated, and all he had left were the hand-to-hand tactics he could remember. He still knew he had the weight advantage over the dragon knight, and so he released his grip with his right hand, which caused Kain to lurch forward. Cecil took the moment of surprise to throw his hips into Kain's midsection, trying to launch him over his shoulder. What he didn't count on was Kain's quick reflexes as he leapt over him, elegantly twisting in midair to land steadily several feet in front of him, still wearing that smug grin. Cecil was beginning to breathe a little heavier, yet Kain showed no signs of exhaustion.

"Do you need a break, Cecil?" Kain asked, playing war of the mind just as much as the battle at hand.

"And give you the satisfaction? Not a chance!"

Cecil dashed at the dragon knight once more, drawing his fist back again to try and land a hit. Kain prepared to take the blow, but was surprised when Cecil changed course and slid to try and take his legs out from under him. He was only successful at swiping one of Kain's legs, and though the dragon knight was momentarily off his balance, he was quick to regain it as he spun around on the ball of his foot and seized the opportunity to catch Cecil with his back turned. Kain's right arm reached under Cecil's and wrapped around his chest to the left shoulder. His left hand had Cecil's left arm pinned behind his back. In this position, Kain could easily drop the Paladin King to his knees, but instead he brought his head right next to Cecil's as he whispered a few last words.

"Nice move, Cecil. Glad to see you haven't completely lost your…"

The sentence was never finished, for Kain had become distracted by the brilliant glowing object that had been wrenched from beneath Cecil's breastplate. It was mesmerizing how it oscillated with Cecil's heartbeat, which Kain could feel in the pulse within the wrist his fingers were wrapped tightly around.

Cecil didn't bother to ask for the rest of the thought as he wriggled his left arm free and swung his elbow into Kain's side. Cecil ignored the searing pain shooting through his arm from the powerful impact against the steel, for it was enough to stagger the dragon knight and free him from his grip. He spun around quickly, swinging his fist cleanly into Kain's jaw, a spray of water thrown from the dragon knight's hair as his head jerked from the blow. Cecil tried to swing his foot into Kain's knee before he recovered, but again his speed in battle betrayed him. Kain had already anticipated the move and lifted his leg out of the way as he swiveled on his heel before ducking low and sweeping Cecil's legs out from under him.

Cecil had a moment of surrealism, where he lost touch with gravity and was treated to a moment of weightlessness. The breeze curled its fingers beneath him, and the world began to tilt against him. With a clumsy, exhausted thump, like a farmer dropping a sack of potatoes, Cecil landed on his back splayed out like a rag doll. The tickle of grass licked his ears and the flare of sunlight blinded him. A shadow suddenly eclipsed the sun's glaring disk, and when Cecil's eyes focused, he saw Kain's irritating grin once again, and a hand extended for him to grab. Despite the pain that pricked his nerves all over, Cecil just smiled and laughed as he reached out and took Kain's hand, leaving the feathered embrace of the ground as he was lifted quickly to his feet.

"You have grown soft and slow on the throne, Cecil," said Kain, steadying the Paladin King as he rediscovered his feet.

"How good of you to notice," Cecil joked, brushing off the bits of dried leaves that had clung to his vestments. "That is the closest thing I've had to a battle in two years. My wars seem to exist purely on paper now."

"Perhaps we should begin a training regimen," Kain suggested, his face taking on a bit more of a serious tone.

"For what?" Cecil asked, eyebrow raised incredulously.

"To prepare for the impending threat to this world," Kain answered earnestly. Cecil was startled by the admission, and he paused to search the dragon knight's face for some hint of jest. When he found nothing but stark truth, it only led to frustration.

"Did the Elder put you up to this?" Cecil asked with sudden irritation. "Did he bring you here to convince me to fight for his new prophecy?"

"I have come on my own volition," Kain replied, taken aback and equally irritated at being pegged as someone's messenger. "I have learned that I have a purpose, that _you_ have a pur—"

"I don't want to hear it," Cecil interrupted, shaking his head and waving his hand as if to shoo away the words. He walked away from Kain, back towards the well. He only made it a few steps before he turned back with a look of restrained anger. "You know what _I've_ learned, Kain?"

Kain's face had returned to hardened stone, a face that Cecil realized was a barrier to hide the emotions stirring within his heart. The lack of response did not dissuade Cecil from continuing his rant.

"I've learned that there are more important things in one's life than war," Cecil began, his voice like gentle thunder. "I have the entire people of Baron looking up to me to manage their livelihood, a country that either stands or crumbles in the palms of my hands."

"This goes beyond politics, Cecil," Kain interjected.

"I'm not finished," Cecil responded sternly. "I have also learned that above all else, one's family is the most important thing in life. I have a family, Kain. The woman I came here to see? That is my mother."

That got Kain's attention, as his eyes went wide in one of the first moments of true emotion that Cecil had received from him.

"Your…mother?" Kain could barely get the words out from the shock.

"Indeed," said Cecil. "She is not well, and I am devoted to staying here through her final days. I have learned so much of myself from her, so much about a family that I never even knew I had. I will not be forced into some fate-driven legacy to save this world again, Kain. I know now that I control my own destiny, and if I'm going to risk leaving my country and my family behind, it is going to be a decision that _I_ make."

"You…have changed, Cecil," Kain commented, his stark face looking a bit sadder than before. "I came here because I thought that I was doing the right thing. It has taken me a long time to accept that you have always been on the right side of every battle, Cecil, that you are somehow destined to maintain the balance of this world. I spent the last two years on Mount Ordeals searching for the light that you found there, with hope that it would show me some way that we could…be on the right side together again…."

Kain had let a great deal of his mind spill out all at once, more than Cecil had heard from him in years. Cecil was surprised at how revealing Kain was allowing himself to be at this moment, and it softened his features a bit as he felt the resounding conflict in his voice. He immediately regretted his overreaction, losing his patience from the overwhelming upheaval of his identity stirring within him, and he imagined the man before him was just as overwhelmed simply by attempting this conversation. Kain's eyes spoke volumes of this to the man reflected in them, and the dragon knight's voice seemed defeated and frustrated.

"But now you say you are not chosen for this? That you may choose no side at all? How have we once again come to be on opposite ends of the table?"

"I know this is hard for you to understand, Kain. Life has been anything but easy since the war…for all of us," Cecil replied, his eyes now full of remorse. "You were not the only wandering soul searching for explanations, or looking for guidance, or reaching for hope. I have always felt like this was not my fate, but I followed the path before me because I saw no other road to take. Now I know that I am free to choose whatever path I wish, that I am not chained down by prophecy."

"How can you know this?"

"Because of _this_ ," Cecil said as he grabbed his crystal pendant to hold it out before him, the silver chain tensed against the back of his neck. "This crystal, this…gift…was given to me by my true parents after I was born. It has shown me a life that I was never able to have. Now I have a chance to find that peace of mind again with a new family. Though my mother will soon be gone, my brothers are still out there."

"Brothers?" Kain questioned, wondering if Cecil had misspoken or was simply referring to the Lunarians, in general. "Golbez is unimaginably far from here, Cecil. What gives you hope that he will return?"

"Because he said we would meet again," Cecil replied sincerely. "And I trust his word."

Kain wanted to berate Cecil for trusting the word of such a man, the thought of Golbez's dark manipulation over his mind still causing him to seethe inside. He wanted to tell Cecil that if he ever saw that man again he would likely kill him, no matter that Golbez had also been under the influence of another being. The feelings were still too raw, too painful. His face remained static, showing none of this to Cecil.

"But while I'm waiting I have another brother to find," Cecil continued. Kain's eyes showed intrigue. The leaves of a nearby oak tree rustled in the wind, blowing a streak of blonde hair across his unflinching face. "He is somewhere on this planet, and I will do whatever it takes to find him."

"Perhaps I can…" Kain began, his words faltering a bit as he seemed to struggle against the weight of the olive branch he was trying to offer. He tried to relax, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before opening them to the expectant Paladin King. "Perhaps I can help you look for him. I have honed my tracking skills over the years."

"I'd like that," Cecil finally let his smile return, gladly accepting Kain's offer of assistance. Just knowing that he was trying to do the right thing was enough for him. "But for now, let us start making up for lost time. Would you care to join me in the tavern for a flagon of mead?"

"You know well enough that Mysidian mead is little more than chocobo piss," Kain replied with a reluctant grin, to which Cecil couldn't help but laugh. Kain began making his way towards the well to pick up his spear and helm still resting peacefully on its edge.

"I also know that we've been getting regular orders here for barrels of our finest whiskey," Cecil hinted with a smile as the dragon knight walked past him. Kain didn't acknowledge it.

"I do not wish to intrude. You should spend what time you have with your mother. I have other things that I can attend to in the meantime." Kain replied as he reached for his spear, tucking it gently behind his steel wing. A memory flashed through his mind of the last time he saw his own mother: tear streaked cheeks, adolescent rage, hands clasped around lifeless fingers as she faded ever so slowly into an endless slumber. His next words carried genuine feeling. "Family comes first."

"I consider you to be family, as well, Kain," Cecil pleaded to Kain's cold shoulder, his unyielding eyes cast down into the well. "We grew up together, much like brothers. We were practically inseparable. I'd like to think that, now that the war is over, we can find some way to return to the way we were."

"This is proving more difficult than I had anticipated," Kain confessed, shutting his eyes as he considered his words carefully. He then reached for his helmet and held it in his hands, just staring at it, as though it would somehow give him the words he wanted to say. "For a long time, I thought there was no way you could help me. I'm still not sure if you can, Cecil. Are we fooling ourselves to believe that we could reestablish the bond we once shared?"

"I am always willing to try," Cecil offered after a moment of silence, placing his warm hand on Kain's shoulder. Kain glanced at the light-skinned fingers perched on the rough-worn steel for a moment before turning his eyes back to the dark pit of the well. He could see dark ripples at the bottom, radiating from the drips of the bucket at the top of the winch. He felt them as if they were falling within his own heart.

Dripping. Radiating. Darkness.

"I should go," Kain replied as he placed the dragon upon his head and turned to walk away, making his way past the broken basin, the sound of fractured wood cracking underfoot.

"What are you so afraid of, Kain?" Cecil called after him. This stopped Kain in his tracks, but he kept his back turned. Cecil could see his posture deflate in a sigh, the dragon's head bending towards the ground. "Are you afraid that you don't deserve to be a part of our lives anymore? That you don't deserve our forgiveness?"

Kain did not respond, nor did he turn to face Cecil. The silence was filled with heartache and unbearable tension. Cecil knew that Kain was hiding an immense amount of pain, seeing through the wall of armor that contained his fear of letting go. Cecil gave one last desperate attempt to break through.

"For what it's worth, I forgiv—"

"Don't!" Kain spun around with a shout, the menacing stare of his dragon helm boring holes of heated agony into Cecil's charity. He was breathing deeply, trying to cool the flames that burned inside, his grimace clearly showing that Cecil had touched the most tender wound. "Do not offer me anything that I have not asked for!"

Kain suddenly realized he was still shouting, and he shook his head with a loud, exhausted sigh before steadying his vision on a crumpled leaf at his feet. Its shriveled veins were impressed like etchings on the fragile brown skin, several squared off chips missing from the edges. He turned his eyes back to the man he had once called his best friend, his brother, his saving grace.

"When I am ready…" Kain began with a more collected, yet saddened voice, his penetrating blue eyes locked onto Cecil's. "When I feel that I have earned the right…I will ask for your forgiveness. I do not intend to abandon you again. I will return this evening, and we may speak more of this. But this will take time, Cecil. I still do not fully trust myself, nor should you trust me so freely. What I can promise you is that I will make any sacrifice necessary to regain my honor. All I ask in return is that I am allowed to walk this path at my own pace. I beg of you to respect these wishes."

A single, stray cloud wandered into the sun's path, casting a mild shadow over the two men standing in the corner of the village. Nothing was said as the emotions were weighed and measured, words seemingly incapable of bridging the gap that still existed between them. What Kain didn't see was the pain that Cecil was hiding, for hearing the truth finally spilled from the dragon knight's lips was a rush of emotion he couldn't have possibly anticipated. It pained him to see Kain's struggle, and it pained him even more to be held at arm's length from it. But he had come this far. He had made the effort to share himself again, and for now, that would have to suffice.

"I understand," Cecil finally spoke, holding back the urge to continue drilling down into Kain's emotional bunker. His voice quivered slightly. "And I will honor your terms."

"Thank you, Cecil," Kain responded with a slight bow of his head. "I will find you upon my return."

With that, Kain turned away and sprinted for the south wall of the village, leaping in a powerful bound, easily clearing the parapet. In a breath of wind he was gone, leaving Cecil to stand alone, the momentary shade peeling away from his surroundings as the cloud moved to reveal the shining sun, the gleam of a few solemn tears framing his cheeks.

**:::**

The small open-air café in Baron's royal palace was even more stunning than she remembered, with mosaic tile floors in beautiful symmetrical patterns of red, white and gold radiating from white marble columns holding up a frescoed roof. The scene painted above was of twin moons: one larger and brighter, the other slightly smaller with a reddish tint. Scattered among the deep violet sea of stars were a few wisps of clouds, and an incredible airship unlike any ever built by mankind, the legendary ship that carried the five saviors to the moon. It brought back memories both pleasant and dreadful, as Rydia took in the splendid artistry.

She sat alone at a table near one of the many grand arches, set with white table cloth, a cruet of olive oil and a basket of fresh bread its only décor. While this table offered awe-inspiring views of the castle grounds—what with the various topiaries in the shape of Baron's native creatures such as massive sandworms, imps, and basilisks—Rydia could not take her eyes off of the painted world above her. It reminded her of how scared she had been, not knowing if she would ever return to the planet they left behind. She quickly realized it was the same feeling she had when she left the underworld just a few weeks ago. That already seemed like such a distant memory, and she smiled as she felt herself sink back into her new home.

It was incredibly peaceful there, the only sounds she heard were of the birds playing in a porcelain birdbath in the gardens. Aside from her splash of red clothing and green hair, the café was completely empty. As it was mid-afternoon the chefs were just beginning to prepare the kitchen for the dinner crowd, and the dining room was currently closed. As special guests of Her Highness, they made an exception, of course.

"Cockatrice l'Orange for the fine lady," the familiar voice announced as the steaming, delectable dish was placed on the table before her. "And a bottle of Chateaux von Hess from the far flung reaches of the Damcyani northern coastal ridge. One of my personal favorites."

Rydia turned her warm smile to the bard that had wooed her so well, as she graciously accepted the fare, along with a quick peck on the cheek. He then unfolded her napkin and placed it gently in her lap before pouring a glass of wine. The smell of the food was intoxicating, especially after surviving on ship rations for the past week. Agleson quickly grabbed his own dish from the cart behind her and laid it upon the table across from her, a succulent imp and potato stew. He then poured his own glass before finally taking his seat.

"Thank you, Agleson, this looks wonderful," she said with the pleasant tones of someone that was truly happy. No one had ever gone through the effort to cook a fine meal just for her, and it felt more special for it. Agleson had insisted to the chefs that he prepare her dish himself. While they were reluctant, at first, he quickly showed them he knew his way around a kitchen, and in the end they had a new item to add to their menu.

"Reminiscing about old times?" Agleson asked as he took a glance at the fresco overhead. "It is a beautiful piece. I can only imagine how amazing such a journey must have been."

"It was incredible, Agleson," Rydia said with joy. "But I do not wish for you to have been there. It was the most harrowing and treacherous place that I have ever explored. No place has ever made me feel such fear and wonder at the same time."

"Perhaps I could write your memoirs one day," Agleson offered, half-jokingly. "I bet the tales would surpass even the most vivid of imaginations."

"Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we?" Rydia responded with a grin. "This tale is far from over, my good gentleman."

"How true," he replied with a smile, lifting his glass to her in anticipation for a toast. She gently hoisted her own glass, watching the burgundy liquid swirl as she moved it towards his. "To new adventures and a life that lays ever open before us."

The clink of the glasses echoed a harmony of notes in her ears, and the wine sparked sensational flavors upon her tongue. She relished the thought of losing herself in this place and building a new life in the company of her closest friends. But a sudden rumble in her stomach quickly brought her back to the moment at hand, as they commenced the meal. As they enjoyed the good food, their conversation remained light, mostly of places around the castle and the surrounding villages that they would tour together. This included the Baron vineyards, which Agleson was particularly excited about. He had grown up on a vineyard in Damcyan, which lent to his exceptional tastes in wine, as Rydia was learning with each generous sip of the smooth, velvety nectar. It began to send a tingling sensation through her skin by the time the bottle had emptied at the meal's end.

"My, that was an amazing meal. Thank you, Agleson," said Rydia as she smiled through the napkin she was dabbing at the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction as she let the effects of the wine settle in, her skin a bit more flush than usual, a warmth radiating from her that matched her smiling lips. "I feel unbelievably free, Agleson. Like the world is wide open, yet not expecting anything of me. Maybe it's just the wine speaking on my behalf?"

"I shall get us another bottle so that we may test this theory," Agleson quipped as he signaled to one of the attendants. "They have a vertical collection of the von Hess, and I am eager to try some of its older vintages. It's impossible to find such a collection of this wine outside of Damcyan."

"Probably a gift to Cecil from King Edward," Rydia surmised as she lifted the bottle to study the swirled lettering etched into the brown glass. "I will certainly enjoy another if you so wish."

When the attendant stopped at the table, Agleson ordered a 13 year old bottle from the collection, insisting that he had the palate to truly appreciate such a good year. Rydia was impressed with the way he handled himself, being able to negotiate a rare bottle of wine from the cellar. Of course, it helped that Rosa had ordered the staff to bring them anything they asked for, but even so, Agleson had wrangled this attendant to his whim with his clever words, to the point that even older vintages were soon offered willingly. This suddenly gave her a moment of pause, as she wondered if she had been too easily led by a silver tongue. She quickly brushed it out of her mind, blaming the wine for distracting her with fictional worries. Agleson stood firm on the 13 year old von Hess, and the attendant disappeared to the wine cellar.

"So I must tell you that I have a very good reason for choosing this next bottle," Agleson returned his attention to the green-haired beauty across from him. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue as she sensed a good story approaching. He had already regaled her with so many fascinating stories about Damcyan's history, and Agleson's flair for the dramatic had never failed to make them interesting. "Chateaux von Hess has something of a checkered past with the kingdom of Damcyan, and its story ends with the eradication of the von Hess family, along with the original vineyard."

"Oh my, what a tragedy!" Rydia said with face alight in wonder. She was hooked. "What happened?"

"The family patriarch, Rupert von Hess, was highly respected among the outer territories of Damcyan, and his vineyards spread across vast tracts of land that always produced a coveted crop. He was by far the wealthiest of the landowners in the fringing estates," Agleson began the story with an excited voice as he set the scene. "Even the then King of Damcyan, Edward's father, eventually appointed Rupert as a governor of the northern region after seeing how much influence he held with the people there. But Lord Rupert had another relationship with the King, one that only a select few were privileged to know."

"This should be good," Rydia responded with a smile.

"As I've told you before, Damcyan has never had a mighty military like Baron or Fabul. Our strength has always resided in espionage, blackmail, and counterintelligence," Agleson reminded her as he prepared to explain further. "Before he retired to the wine country to build his vineyard empire, Lord Rupert was a spy for the kingdom, and one of their most notorious assassins, I might add. He delivered entire regions of rebellious territory to the King of Damcyan with blades as silent as a whisper. His loyalty to the kingdom bordered on unethical at times, as even members of the King's court began to disappear at the mere whiff of treason. They were all officially considered suicides, and indeed were made to look that way, but rumors couldn't help but crawl out of the cracks in the evidence."

"Even loyalty can go too far, I suppose," Rydia said, fully drawn into the story as she perched her chin in her palm, elbow propping it up on the table.

"Quite true. Lord Rupert was by all means untouchable, and by the end of his career he was leading the assassin's guild, whose loyalty to him was unshakeable. There were rumors that with a single order he could have the King's head delivered to his feet, and have the crown placed on his head," Agleson continued. "But Lord Rupert wanted no crown, no seat at the royal table. When he felt his time was up, he retired peacefully and with the King's blessing, both in respect as well as gold and lands. Thus Chateaux von Hess was born. Lord Rupert was quick to spread his wealth to the surrounding villages, hiring many to work the lands and for better wages than his competitors. The first vintage of von Hess was bought by the King in its entirety, every last bottle. Reaping the profits, the von Hess estate continued to grow."

"I sense a twist," Rydia interrupted with a grin, to which Agleson just laughed.

"Have my stories become that predictable?" he replied, smiling. "Naturally, this seemed unfair to the other vineyards, but Lord Rupert surprised them by actually spending a fair portion of his profits on improving the welfare of the outer territories. He would visit the villages and gain their trust with an affable demeanor, much as he would when he was employed as a spy. But instead of using the information to ruin them, he used it to pinpoint what was truly needed and satisfied those needs directly. Over the course of a decade this wrought great respect for him throughout the region, and many neighboring vineyards willingly conceded their lands to his crop just to work for him."

"Not the twist I was expecting, I must admit."

"Ah, but there is more to come," Agleson responded. "As I mentioned, Lord Rupert was given the governorship of the region, at which point rumors began to circulate that he was planning to secede from the kingdom and carve out his own country."

"How could he possibly think that the King would stand for this?" Rydia asked.

"The King's spies and assassins, many of whom had trained at Lord Rupert's heel began to disappear," Agleson continued. "Those spies that remained were not trusted entirely, but information was seeping in that a new assassin's guild was forming in the northern region, and that it was headquartered at Chateaux von Hess. The King sent emissaries with military escort to learn more, and they returned only to confirm that there was no evidence to substantiate the rumors. Lord Rupert was more than willing to allow the investigators to search his properties, and they found nothing. It appeared that the rumors were nothing more than overinflated paranoia."

"But the King's spies had disappeared?" Rydia questioned, both of her arms propped on the table, her chin now cupped in two palms.

"True, which still had the King worried, but the attention had been diverted away from Lord Rupert…that is until someone came forward," Agleson responded with a grin, seeing that Rydia was fully invested in the story. He paused for dramatic effect as her eyes widened.

"Who came forward?"

"Lord Rupert had only one son, someone to carry the family name and continue the vineyard's legacy," Agleson answered. "It is said that his son grew rebellious towards his father, for reasons that are strictly hearsay. Some say it was loyalty to Damcyan, or that it was disinterest in the family business, or that he was simply acting out as a petulant adolescent. All that is known is that he told the King exactly where and when to find Lord Rupert and his new assassin's guild. On a clear, moonless night, the hills were said to burn like the sunrise on the horizon, as the King's men torched the Chateaux, killing Lord Rupert and all of his most loyal followers. Before a rebellion could ever begin it was extinguished. In true Damcyani fashion, the war was won before it ever started."

"What happened to his—?"

Rydia's question was cut off as the attendant arrived with the wine, presenting it to Agleson for approval. With a nod, the attendant pulled the cork gently from the bottle and handed it to the bard, who took a deep inhale of the wine-soaked end to prepare his palate for what was to come. The smile on his face told Rydia that she should expect another spectacular experience with her next few glasses. The attendant poured just a sip of wine into Agleson's glass, which he swirled, watching the syrup of red run down the inside of the glass after it settled. He then tipped the glass to his lips and took in the sample, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment before slowly swallowing it. He seemed to be lost in revelry as he held the empty glass, eyes closed, as though he was letting the wine filter through his entire body.

"Is it to your liking, sir?" the attendant asked respectfully.

"It is brilliant," Agleson finally responded as he opened his eyes and his smile widened. "By far the best that I have tasted. You are in for a treat, milady."

"I am eager to enjoy it, especially now that I know the story that goes with it," she replied excitedly. "And I do wish to learn what happened to the boy."

"Of course," Agleson assured her as their glasses were filled and the attendant once again left them to their conversation. "Lord Rupert's son was given royal protection by the King, and even became friends with then Prince Edward, but he rarely spoke of his father again, and bringing it up only made him angry. Many believe that this anger was masking the guilt of his betrayal, for only a year after the incident at the Chateaux, the boy committed suicide."

"That's terrible!" Rydia responded with saddened eyes.

"It left a deep stain on the history of Damcyan," Agleson continued. "He left an enigmatic note behind that simply read: I have seen everything, and I wish to see no more. No one knows exactly what it means, but many believe that he learned more of the King's motives and intentions that made him see his father's wisdom, which left him crushed with compunction."

"That poor child," Rydia said. "No one should have to carry such a burden at such a young age. Such atrocities are all too common in times of war."

"And even in times of supposed peace, it seems," Agleson responded, referring to their near assassination in Agart.

"It's true," Rydia said with a bit of deflation. "Even in peace, there is corruption hiding wars behind the curtains."

"I firmly believe King Cecil can prevail," Agleson said with a bit more pep in his tone, trying to bring the mood back into the positive. "His Gaea Treaty is so far proving to be the first honest attempt to bring the world's nations together in ways that are truly unprecedented. I have had the pleasure of reading the treaty working at King Hector's side, as he has requested my penmanship in making amendments in its early stages. It is admirably fair to both developed and developing nations."

"That is nice to hear," Rydia replied, allowing her smile to return.

"So let us drink to King Cecil," Agleson said, lifting his glass once more towards her. "I chose this vintage because it was the last harvest before the fall Lord Rupert. All subsequent years were made by the other villages who still work the lands and maintain the vineyard's name out of respect for the fallen. But in thirteen years since, Damcyan has enjoyed relative peace, barring that whole ordeal with the crystals and the root of all evil."

"To Cecil," Rydia said with a smile as their glasses met once again with a chime. They each took a good sip of the wine, and the smiles mirrored between them were evidence enough that it was exquisite. The warmth that spread through them was immediate, and Rydia found herself gazing lovingly at the man before her. She wanted to let him know just how she felt, but at the last moment she deflected with more conversation. "So you have told me that you grew up on a vineyard. Was it close to Chateaux von Hess?"

"My family vineyard was farther north, on the other side of the mountains, where we grew white grapes for champagne," Agleson explained. "We were never in direct competition since von Hess strictly sells red wine. I had already moved to the Capitol to attend the Bard's College when the incident occurred, but my father wrote to me in a letter that he could feel the heat in the soil as though it had warmed the entire earth beneath them."

"How incredible to have been there. Was he aware of the trouble brewing in the region?" Rydia asked with genuine concern.

"Oh yes, our family was privy to many of the rumors that circulated around the region, and we did our best to have none of it," Agleson replied. "It is one of the things that encouraged me to leave for the Capitol as soon as I was ready."

"I am glad you did," Rydia said with a heartfelt smile.

"As am I," he replied in kind.

"Agleson, I…" Rydia stopped shy of letting her heart burst from her lips.

"Yes?" he asked sincerely.

"I would like to see your vineyard, someday. Meet your family, perhaps?" she said, once again holding back her heart's true words, but allowing something of sentiment to flow out of her.

"I would like that very much," Agleson replied with a smile. "Unfortunately, my parents have both passed, but the vineyard still lives on in their memory."

"I'm so sorry," Rydia said as she put her hand over her mouth, feeling awful for bringing up the subject.

"No worries, milady," Agleson said as he took another sip of his wine. "Much like you, I have come to terms with something I cannot change. They both lived full lives, doing what they loved. Like any fine wine they seemed to only get better, to fall more in love with age."

"That's so nice," Rydia said as she released the anxiety, and let the warmth of her heart release into her veins once more. She eyed the bottle sitting upon the table, seeing her reflection in the glass. Somehow she worked up the courage to make a suggestion. "Shall we finish the rest of this bottle in our room?"

"I thought Queen Rosa was going to join us after delivering the bolt to her advisors?" Agleson asked, unsure if Rydia knew what she was suggesting.

"She said she hasn't been…feeling well most of the day," Rydia sheepishly confessed, biting her bottom lip as though she was holding something in. "If she hasn't shown by now, I think we can assume the day is ours."

"Then let us take advantage of it," Agleson answered with a grin.

They both stood to leave, Rydia's hand wrapped around Agleson's elbow, their glasses in hand. They strolled in step with each other as the attendants opened the magnificent doors for them, their eyes catching the feelings they both shared. Rydia felt as though her world was quickly coming into focus, despite the slight blur of the wine in her vision. She was simply happy. As the doors closed behind them, the birds continued playing in the bath, the singsong of their chatter filling the silence of the café.

**:::**

The sun was nearing the western horizon as the sky was ablaze with newly forming clouds that were beginning to roll in. Kain rested on his knees along the sandy shores of the Luraloa Lagoon, the shallow bay that split the western end of the continent into two peninsulas, often referred to as the Dragon's Mouth. His eyes were closed, head bowed as he meditated to the sounds of bantam waves lapping the shore. Behind him, just beyond the dunes lay a carcass of a giant raven, commonly referred to as a Zu by the Mysidians, what they believed to be a manifestation of one of the great gods from the moon. It was a fresh kill, without the stench of rot or the pestilence of flies laying eggs in the flesh. From its head protruded a gleaming blue spear, clotted blood coating the black feathers and striping the bright yellow beak, the eyes completely ejected from their sockets and dangling lifelessly.

This was how Kain made his living over the last two years, slaying giant beasts as offerings to the villagers to barter for food, supplies, and usually one night's stay at the Inn to bathe. Just one of these massive birds of prey could easily feed the village for a week, or could be sold for export to other nations that coveted the meat. The bones were often ground into powder for potions, and were a prime ingredient for elixirs, which Kain was always provided gratis for his troubles. This was the relationship that he maintained with Mysidia. Strictly business.

As he continued his meditations, the whispers he had heard on Mt. Ordeals soon returned, and they echoed with disturbing clarity in his head. The message that had seemed so true and unequivocal now haunted him, for it gave him no further guidance to navigate around Cecil's convictions. What frustrated him more than anything was that he had known this would not be easy, yet he had allowed himself to become vulnerable with the anticipation that Cecil would be eager to fight against whatever was to come. It was disheartening to realize that neither of them were the same person they were before the war. The voices continued their repetitive chant in his mind, goading him, and he continued to wrestle with their meaning.

Kain's muscles tensed as he heard a foot sink into sand behind him, and a familiar smell of wood filled his nose. He opened his eyes as the robed figure stopped next to him before slowly kneeling down to sit on the beach at his side. The sound of a cork popping from a flask could be heard as the scent of whiskey teased his nostrils. He didn't turn to face the man, for knew who it was and why he was here.

"Why am I here, Kain?" Erasmus asked frankly. He didn't look at Kain, either. Both men just stared out at the drowsy surf, lazily moving up and down the face of the beach. Erasmus took a long pull from the flask.

"You know why you are here," Kain responded sternly. "Don't play dumb with me, old man."

"Of course _I_ know why I'm here, boy," the old man shot back. "That's not the point. The question is, do _you_ know why I am here."

Kain didn't say anything, at first. He continued staring out at the sea, and in the silence that ensued he realized that the voices had stopped. His head felt clearer, more at ease, and he began to truly think about what had happened back in the village.

"Yes, I know why you are here," Kain replied. "You are here because I failed, yet again. I failed to fully comprehend the complexity of the task before me."

"You treat this as if you should have planned maneuvers in a theatre of war," Erasmus commented.

"It is all I know," Kain admitted.

"Then it is time to learn something new," said Erasmus. "You told Cecil that these things take time, and you are right. It _will_ take time. Cecil may not be so quick to join you, but you must give him time, as well."

"I see…" Kain whispered to the air, the mist of sea salt sprinkling his body. "So I must continue to move forward by fumbling through the dark?"

"How else will you learn?"

Kain just sighed, closing his eyes as the realization washed over him, like waves over grains of sand. He wasn't as sure of himself as he was before his confrontation with Cecil, but that was the reality that he had to deal with. This wasn't going to be some fabled folktale of the two former knights of Baron joining forces to battle against evil. As easy as that would have been for him to swallow, this was a different kind of challenge. And it was time to face it. Kain opened his eyes to the glow of the orange horizon, the sparkled reflection in the ocean like distant wildfires on fields of azure.

"I need to ask you about somethi—" Kain started as he turned to where Erasmus was sitting, but stopped short when he saw nothing. The old man was gone. In his place sat the flask, stoppered and empty. He had wanted to ask about what the Elder had said, about the legends of the Magi. As far as he could tell, Erasmus had not lied to him about his past, for what he already knew aligned with the Elder's stories. For the time being, he would reserve his judgement, for the old man had helped him thus far, but he would now be wary of any insidious, ulterior motives that should seep to the surface.

The flask at his side reflected the sunlight in such a way that the inside of the bottle appeared to be filled with a faint, white mist. Kain picked it up and examined it, watched his view of the waves become bulbous and warped as he looked through it. And then it gave him an idea.

 


	14. The Way We Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Kain sit by a fire to talk.

The flower garden had become his favorite place to be alone with his thoughts, when everything else around him swirled and tumbled in a tempest of anxiety. Their vibrant innocence was always a refreshing reminder of the beauty of this world, and he admired their silent strength as they fearlessly bloomed in the face of this equivocal future. A part of him knew that he had to somehow rediscover that piece of himself, but his feelings about his family—and his role in this life—were crushing. Seeing Kain again only brought to light another missing piece of his soul torn from the war that needed to be mended. He needed to find that equilibrium again, that stable state that had allowed him to push so boldly through these barriers. The flowers danced in a light breeze, offering only the sound of windbreath, and the sway of their placid faces.

"Sir Cecil?"

The pure voice startled him, so lost in his focus that he hadn't even heard the young mage approach. He turned to see her standing at his side, not much taller than he was resting on his knees. Seeing her face only brought out the joy in him, and he smiled to assure her that she was not intruding.

"Hello, Porom," Cecil responded kindly.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Sir Cecil, I just—"

"Think nothing of it," Cecil assured her, as she seemed truly worried about him. This touched him deeply, for he owed this young mage his life in so many ways. "Please join me."

She stepped carefully around the flowers, finding a soft bed of grass to nestle down in front of him. Her soft features mirrored the delicacy of the garden, and Cecil felt as though he was finally getting a chance to speak to the essence of peace in which he had found comfort here.

"I heard about your meeting with Sir Kain earlier today," Porom began apprehensively, as though she was expecting Cecil's face to give her some clue of her boundaries. His smile never waned, and it gave her the courage to go on. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. The Elder is worried about you."

"I know…I would be lying if I said I was fine," Cecil admitted, still trying to maintain a pleasant expression. "And I owe it to you to be honest."

The scent of lilies swirled around them, and the glow of sunset cast a radiant halo behind Porom's long, braided brown hair draped over her shoulder. As always, he saw her as a warm-hearted soul, one who refused to judge others, which is what always made it so freeing to speak with her.

"I haven't been myself, lately," Cecil began with a sigh. "Mostly because I don't feel as though I am the same person now that I was during the war. My life has changed, my circumstances…" Cecil caught himself, as though he had nearly let something slip. He let his eyes glance over towards his mother's hut before he continued. "And now I finally have this chance…this one last chance to learn who I am and where I came from. I don't want to lose that. It's all just so…it's so overwhelming."

"I understand," Porom replied sympathetically, trying to smile but failing. "I can't imagine the weight of this burden, Sir Cecil, how it must feel to always have everyone looking to you to solve the world's problems."

"Am I being selfish for wanting a life free of such burden?" Cecil asked, shaking his head as he gazed at a yellow tulip grazing his thigh. He turned his eyes back to the young mage, wet with the threat of tears. "You and your brother…your sacrifice for me…I could never repay. But I would never ask it of you again. Should I be so willing to risk my life again? Should I even consider the possibility of leaving Rosa a widow, of leaving all the people that I love behind to face every threat of evil that emerges?"

"You never had to ask for our sacrifice, Sir Cecil," Porom corrected as politely as possible, not wanting to make the Paladin King feel any worse. She reached her hand over to his as a single tear descended his cheek. "And you _did_ repay us. By saving this planet, you made our sacrifice _mean_ something. You don't owe me anything, Sir Cecil, and you don't owe this planet anything, either. The way I see it, this planet owes _you_."

Cecil considered her words carefully, thoughtfully, and it released something in him, some pressure that had built up over the course of the day. From his words with the Elder in the morning, to his interaction with Kain in the afternoon, this evening meeting with a girl less than half his age had been the most meaningful moment yet. He couldn't help but let a smile loose upon his face, the breeze blowing a few strands of silver hair across his lips.

"Thank you, Porom," Cecil finally spoke. A brief and comforting silence ensued.

"You're welcome, Sir Cecil," Porom responded warmly. "And I want to tell you that whatever you choose to do, I trust you, and you have many friends here that feel the same way. You will never be alone."

"And here we are, again," Cecil said with a teary chuckle. "You guiding me through yet another turbulent time in my life. How did you become so wise beyond your years? Are you sure that you and your brother are truly related?"

"I'm sure," Porom responded with a giggle, happy to have the mood lifted so quickly. "As daft as he is most of the time, he has his moments where he is actually somewhat…tolerable. Speaking of, I should probably fetch him for dinner. He's probably peeping on the female mages in their bunk house."

"Before you go," Cecil began as she stood up in the grass, her lilywhite cloak swaying along with the variegated chrysanthemums. Her innocent face showed genuine interest. "I have something I'd like to tell you, but you must promise to keep it a secret."

"Certainly!" Porom responded excitedly. Cecil gestured for her to lean in so that he could whisper in her ear. After delivering his message, her eyes went wide, and her face lit up brighter than a clear summer day. "Oh Cecil, I am so happy for you! I don't even know what to—"

Cecil held up a finger to his lips with a smile and wink, and Porom instantly clamped a hand over her mouth. They both shared a laugh as she wrapped her arms around him. When she let go she was beaming with joy. Cecil finally stood up and laid a warm hand upon her shoulder.

"You cannot tell a soul," Cecil reminded her. "Rosa would kill me if this got out before she had a chance to inform everyone. I only just received word from her a few days ago."

"Of course, Sir Cecil, you have my word."

Just then, a messenger approached with haste, the sandstone structures behind him turning a deep violet as the sun sank below the horizon. He handed a note to Cecil and offered a courteous bow before making his leave. Cecil unfolded the small square of parchment and read the scribbled words. A grin crept into his left cheek.

"It appears we both have somewhere to be," Cecil said to the young mage as she stared with a quizzical look. "I must thank you again for your kind words, Porom. Having your support means the world to me."

"You're quite welcome, Sir Cecil," she beamed. She gave him one last hug before she shuffled off to get her brother out of whatever trouble he surely happened to be getting into at that moment. Cecil made his way towards the main gates at the south entrance of the village, eagerly anticipating what awaited him there. He strolled down the dusty path as mages finished their daily business and chores, heading back to their homes or to the tavern for evening libations. As he neared the gates, the hanging torches lit a strong knight in hues of blue, starkly contrasting against the bright yellow feathers of two heavy-breed chocobos draped with saddlebags. Upon hearing Cecil's approach, Kain cinched the last strap and turned his dragon head with a grin. Cecil noticed the saddlebags were filled mostly with firewood and jugs of whiskey.

"Are we going somewhere?" Cecil begged the question with a chuckle.

"It's time we sit down by the fire and talk…the way we used to," Kain replied. "Just you, me, a half-rack of raven, and every last ounce of whiskey they had left in the tavern."

**:::**

The hearth fire kept the small room filled with a warm glow, supplemented by several candles at the bedside. On a table by the window sat an empty bottle of wine, and two empty glasses tinted red, illuminated by the waning glow of a moon half in shadow. Hills and valleys moved sinuously across the red silk sheets adorning the cherry-wood sleigh bed, as the two young lovers slid beneath them. The air was alive with the crackle of flames and the consistent chorus of crickets crowing outside. Their eyes were wide and expectant for words that never came, just the look of wanting yet not knowing how or when to take. Should the world have ended at that moment, they may never have realized what they now could only imagine. Her heart beat fast, his even faster. Tender breath escaped tempted lips, the pulse of something primal in every exchange of air. The cool touch of hands meeting heated skin sent shivers that resonated down to their toes, and her eyes closed as she suddenly felt what she had been missing. With a gasp of liberation, she finally released her heart not in words, but in pure, unbridled passion.

**:::**

As Kain stoked the fire, blowing on the embers to catch the fresh kindling, Cecil turned the spit to evenly roast the massive rack of raven ribs, dusting them lightly with spices as he did so. The smell was tempting, both of the food and the flame, and the howl of wolves in the distance reminded them that they were in nature's domain. Their weapons were within reach, should nature decide to take a chance against them. Kain's spear and helm rested on a stump, as though they had their own seat in the round.

"I think it's ready," said Cecil, his lips wet with expectation. He retrieved his dagger and inserted it in the soft flesh, pulling back the layers of meat to find a cool, pink center.

"Looks good," Kain replied, also eager to end his fast. "Let's eat."

Cecil and Kain each grabbed an end of the spit and lifted it to a higher rack to keep the food warm. Cecil then carved a large rib for each of them and they plopped on the soft ground leaning against a felled tree trunk, a full jug of whiskey between them, an empty jug laying nearby, their shadows dancing merrily through the forest behind them. They quickly demolished their first helping without a word spoken, the bones tossed to the chocobos to keep them complacent and distracted from the thought of predators lurking nearby. Kain took the first pull from the jug before handing it to Cecil, who held it to his mouth twice as long as the dragon knight. Kain just grinned.

"I see your tolerance for alcohol hasn't waned since you took the throne," Kain jested. Cecil handed the jug back to Kain once he was finished.

"Managing the kingdom does tend to find me in the wine cellar quite often," Cecil replied in kind before allowing a small burp to the surface. It brought back the memory of King Hector at the banquet weeks ago, which caused him to release a light chuckle.

"Do you remember when we first snuck in there?" Kain asked, taking a quick swig of whiskey as Cecil searched his now somewhat foggy memory.

"Was that the time that Baigan found us vomiting in the King's barrels of special reserve?" Cecil wondered aloud, looking up at the silent night sky as errant embers vaulted up only to vanish against the stars. "Or the time that Rosa nursed us back to health only to scold us until our ears bled?"

"Both," Kain responded with a laugh, something Cecil had not heard from him in a long time. "We swore we would never touch the stuff again. Seems we spoke too soon."

"Way too soon," Cecil agreed as he reached for the jug once more.

"Another round of raven?" Kain offered as he stood to carve the bird. Cecil nodded eagerly as he swallowed his whiskey, his eyes squeezed shut as the burn ran down his throat. The two men took their time on this helping, not feeling quite as starved as before.

"So is this how you've been making your living the last two years?" Cecil inquired as he chewed the tender meat. "I've noticed the export of raven out of Mysidia has increased dramatically since the war."

"Among other things, yes," Kain responded before sinking his teeth down to the bone and ripping the flesh from it.

"I'm impressed, they are damned difficult to track, and even harder to kill."

"I've sustained my share of injuries," Kain admitted as he eyed the remains on the spit. "But they fetch the highest price."

"Care to share an adventure?" Cecil pried as he finished his rib, once again tossing the bone behind him where the chocobos each grabbed an end and began fighting over it. "I imagine you have had quite a few, spending so much time on Mount Ordeals."

"Hmm…" Kain hummed as he, too, finished his rib. He held the bone in his hand, focusing as best he could on it, the curve of the inner ridge aligned with the cartilage keel on the outer edges that allowed the strength and flexibility to lift such a massive bird off the ground. He was oblivious to the flapping fluster of feathers behind him.

"Do you mind throwing them that bone?" Cecil interrupted, pointing his thumb behind him to the two birds playing tug-of-war. "Before every predator in the forest comes looking for us?"

"I'm not sure that I have any stories to tell," Kain finally replied, chucking the remains behind him. The chocobos instantly calmed down as they each had a bone to clean. "My time on the mountain was…difficult, to say the least."

"I don't doubt it. I only spent a week there and thought I might meet my end at every turn. To practically live there is…" Cecil stopped himself short before he said something that might offend this delicate reunion. Kain kept his eyes on the fire.

"You can say it," Kain offered to Cecil's surprise. "There were many days that I prayed for death."

"I didn't mean to suggest—"

"I know," Kain stopped him from digging any deeper into pity. He took a long pull from the jug, the swish of liquid suggesting that it was soon to be empty, his throat burning with every pulse of whiskey until the stream ran dry. He then carelessly heaved it into the grass where it rolled into the darkness.

"Shall we finish the bird?" Cecil asked after an awkward silence. Kain just nodded, the firelight accentuating his clenched jaw, his hair aglow like tendrils of warm honey. They ate the remainder of the meal in silence, another jug of whiskey split between them. When they finished, Kain finally stood to add more wood to the fire, the only indication that he wished to continue the conversation. Cecil watched him arrange the logs so precisely, adding the kindling in just the right places to get the most out of the fire while conserving their stock. He imagined this was just one of many survival tactics he had picked up since the war. When Kain sat back down Cecil said nothing, allowing him to make the first move.

"Do you remember the last time we sat by a fire like this?"

"Yes," Cecil responded, neither of them looking anywhere but the glow the flames. "It was the night before we entered the caves leading to the village of Mist."

"I never told you what happened after that," said Kain, leaving the sentence hanging for a moment as though he expected Cecil to react. "I think…I think it's necessary for me to tell you…" Kain was struggling with it already, the words not as readily accessible through the haze of booze running through his blood, but it gave him the courage to press on. "To tell you why I turned on you."

Cecil seemed caught off guard, a slight flinch as he finally turned to face the man next to him. He watched Kain's eyes, burning brightly as they studied the wisps of flame. Cecil wasn't exactly sure how to respond, nor was he sure he wanted to hear what was coming. But he knew that Kain needed this, to relieve the weight that bore down so heavily upon him.

"Go on," Cecil acknowledged. "I'm listening."

"I know you want to believe that I was under Golbez's control…that I had no choice," Kain began, taking a moment to compose his next sentence. He took a quick drink from the jug, preparing himself for what needed to be said. "But that's not entirely true. There is always a choice."

The silence that followed was tense, and the hum of crickets seemed amplified in its wake, along with the gnawing of beaks on bone. Cecil watched the man at his side, his strong façade weakening as the muscles behind the thick stubble of his cheeks twitched ever so slightly, the whiskey clearly peeling back his hardened exterior. He listened patiently, allowing Kain the space he needed to pull the words together.

"Rosa found me nearly dead in the ruins…she saved me," Kain continued quietly, almost reverently. "We were going to search for you together, but the Red Wings descended upon the village. I stayed behind to distract them long enough to let Rosa escape."

"I remember her telling me this story when she was sick with desert fever in Kaipo," Cecil added. "She told me that she wished you had come with her."

The change in Kain's eyes was nearly imperceptible, but Cecil was able to catch the glimmer of painful regret before they turned away from him, looking into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Kain then looked down at the half-empty jug that rested on his thighs, watched the firelight flicker on its surface like it was something beautiful. The thought of crushing it between his palms swept through his mind, but he swiftly decided he was not drunk enough to show that side of himself.

"I wish I had followed her…" Kain said, his voice taking on a gravelly tone as he quietly fumed. "…that I hadn't been so naïve to think I could have stopped the war on my own. Just one of many poor choices that I have made in my life."

"It's not your fault, Kain," Cecil tried to keep him from tormenting himself over this. Kain finally turned his eyes to the Paladin King, and the fire seemed alive in them.

"I'm not asking for sympathy, Cecil!” Kain spat, letting his frustration boil over for a moment. “I own what I did, and I will be the one to carry it!"

Cecil had no response to this, concerned that pushing any further would only alienate the man beside him, his words resting on a delicate balance. With patient silence, he let the dragon knight continue his story. Retreating from his sudden furor, Kain turned his glare back to the flames as they whispered their secrets to the skies above.

"That was the first time I met Golbez…the moment everything changed," Kain said with a strange lack of emotion, as though this event in time was an inevitability he could never have avoided. "Had I been a stronger person…had I been a better man…" he stopped himself before he let out a frustrated laugh as he shook his head. "No, I was never that strong and true."

Cecil couldn't tell if Kain was talking more to himself, perhaps some type of social preservation mechanism in his period of isolation. Kain took a generous gulp of whiskey before handing it to Cecil, holding his other hand up as though to signal he was finished with the vile substance. He was quiet for a moment, as though he was preparing an emotional cannonball.

"Golbez didn't turn me against you, Cecil," Kain confessed. Cecil's eyes began to widen with disbelief. "He didn't have to. He only needed to look into my deepest desires, to bring to the surface those feelings that I kept hidden from everyone but myself. He stripped every layer of inhibition that held back my avarice, my envy, my hatred…my lust…" Kain shut his eyes tight as his jaw clenched hard. "I wanted so badly to prove that I was better than you, to believe that I deserved more than you, to take what was yours without hesitation…" He eventually released and relaxed, opening his eyes to see the world still standing before him. He breathed a sigh of exhaustion. "I will not elaborate on his methods…but I still feel him…feel his dark magic churning within me, sometimes. It is in these moments that I…fear myself. "

"So you left to protect us? To protect…me?"

"Don't make it sound so noble," Kain replied earnestly, meeting Cecil's gaze with honest eyes. "You were right to say that I was afraid. I was a coward, running from something I knew I needed to face. Our past is what it is, and I cannot take it back. But I cannot move forward without you, Cecil. We are bound by this, you and I."

"Kain…" Cecil let the sound of his name quietly echo between them, followed by reverent silence. They both turned their gaze back to the flame, letting the truth sink in like the heat of the fire permeating their skin. He couldn’t imagine Kain ever leaving this much of himself exposed, allowing anyone this deep in the sea of his thoughts. Despite the revelation, Cecil didn’t feel angry, even though he thought he should. Surprisingly, he only felt compassion. Cecil finally composed himself and finished his thought. "I am here for you. Know that whatever resentment you harbored towards me in the past does not change how I feel about you now."

"Thank you, Cecil," Kain responded, sounding neither happy nor sad, although Cecil thought he could see a new reflection of light in the corner of his eye before it was blinked away. "I'm sorry to have shattered the mood so quickly. Let us move on to something else."

"Of course," Cecil obliged. He was simply in awe that this man had spilled so much emotion in one sitting, fearing that pressing the issue further might close the door to future discussion. Cecil stood up to get some more firewood, but became suddenly aware that the ground beneath his feet was a bit less stable than before. He stumbled over an empty jug on his way to the chocobo, causing it to eye him cautiously. "I believe this bird is trying to tell me that I've had enough whiskey for one night."

"Agreed," Kain replied with a chuckle. He watched Cecil set a few fresh logs on the fire, at first reserving his judgment on their arrangement. But then he thought better of it. "You're doing it wrong."

"How so?"

"By the gods, Cecil, have you forgotten your basic survivalist training already?" Kain scolded with a grin. "Don't smother the embers, they need to breathe."

"Ah, yes, it's all coming screaming back to me now," Cecil responded sarcastically, to which Kain snickered. "I pay for someone to make all of my fires now."

"You should be paying someone to make you make your own fires," Kain came back as Cecil finished rearranging the logs and reclaimed his seat by his friend.

"What's the lowest wage you would take?" Cecil batted the remark quickly back to him. Kain just grunted, suggesting he had nothing witty to retort.

"How are things in Baron?" Kain conceded the battle of wits, moving on to more substantive conversation. "I imagine the various warrior guilds have undergone considerable reformation since you took the throne. I trust the Order of the Dark Sword is no more?"

"Indeed, the Dark Knights of Baron remain only as a memory of a disconsolate time in our nation's history," Cecil explained wearily, as the effect of a full stomach and a blood stream filled with alcohol began taking its toll. "We still retain our basic army, as well as the Red Wings, although they are relegated purely to peacekeeping and humanitarian missions now."

"What of the Order of the Dragon?" Kain inquired, a hint of hope in his voice.

"They are now Baron's most elite regiment," Cecil replied with a smile as he noticed Kain's eyes light up slightly. "In fact we have expanded the order into three separate guilds. We've found that many of our mages simply don't have the prowess to fully develop their magic, yet have shown remarkable physical abilities. We've taken those students and honed their combat skills along with a few useful spells that greatly increase their effectiveness in battle. The Order of the Red Dragon is home to those knights that wield black magic. The Order of the White Dragon for those with basic healing and barrier spells. For those purely built for physical combat there is the Order of the Gold Dragon."

"Red, White, and Gold…Baron's colors," Kain noted. What he didn't notice was that he was smiling, almost gleefully, as though some childhood dream had been realized. Cecil reveled in it for a moment before he continued.

"While the traditional Dragon Knights wore blue steel, my advisors thought it best to create a fresh look for our most highly trained soldiers," Cecil added.

"A fresh start…I couldn't agree more," Kain assured him. The fire snapped as a log tumbled onto the embers from Cecil's impaired structure, and a burst of orange specks erupted upwards, dancing like fireflies around them. "Do they still teach the recruits the hymn?"

"The Hymn of Odin's War? We haven't had a battle to sing it for in some time, but it is so steeped in tradition that we couldn't possibly leave it to fade into forgotten history."

"Are we drunk enough to give it the honor?" Kain asked with a sly grin. Cecil took the nearly empty jug at his side, taking a swig before offering the last drink to Kain.

"Let us find out," Cecil answered with a cough as the searing alcohol felt as though it had finally eroded through the lining of his esophagus. Kain finished the jug before standing and offering a hand to help Cecil up. They stood before the flame like two warriors preparing to enter the field of battle, as they had done so many times together. They sang to the fire, to the night, to the spirits of every soldier that died honorably defending their homeland.

_O, I can see the mountain o'er the glen_

_And I can still remember way back when_

_How all the rebel soldiers stood on that fateful day_

_And left their sorrowed souls along the way._

_When Odin's men prepared for their last stand_

_And waited for His Majesty's command_

_Fearless in their hearts and bravery in their hands_

_They went forth to defend the Baron lands._

_And when they fought (We fight! We fight!)_

_All hope seemed lost (There's hope! There's hope!)_

_Until the storms rolled in._

_For Odin's men they wore enchanted steel_

_And every strike of lightning they did feel_

_For all his fallen men did rise to join the fight again_

_And struck down every foe upon the glen._

_And as they fought (We fight! We fight!)_

_Their souls aloft (We rise! We rise!)_

_They sang their victory song._

_For Odin we shall fight_

_For what is just and right_

_And nary shall a country see_

_A force as strong as we._

_For we are the elite_

_And will never see defeat_

_We sing this song for all of you_

_Who fight for this land through and through_

_March on with blood both old and new_

_May Odin still watch over you._

_Honor be to Odin_

_Glory be to Baron_

_Glory be! (Glory be!)_

_Glory be! (Glory be!)_

_Glory be!_

As they finished the song they collapsed back to their impressions in the grass in drunken laughter, feeling quite silly for singing in the middle of the night to no one but themselves and their marvelously overweight avian steeds. The wolves began howling once more, perhaps in protest of the horrendous noise.

"And may no unfortunate soul ever have to hear that again," said Cecil as he grabbed his aching ribs against the laughter. They eventually settled down and found their peace and quiet once more, enjoying the warmth of whiskey in their veins.

"How is Cid?" Kain asked, trying to fight the urge to relinquish consciousness by continuing any avenue of conversation. "Still crying every time you break one of his airships?"

"Retired, actually," Cecil replied, eyes half open, fighting the urge to lay down. "His daughter is coming into her own as an engineer, however. You remember Maya, don't you?"

"Vaguely," Kain recalled. "She was always tending to Cid's manor after his wife died. We so rarely saw her around the castle or outside the village."

"Apparently she also spent her time reading his entire library," Cecil added. "She may even surpass her father should she choose to devote her life to the craft as he did."

There was a pause in the conversation that Cecil expected Kain to fill. When he did not, it brought something to the forefront of his mind.

"I haven't yet told Rosa that I saw you in the village," Cecil confessed. Kain's eye twitched at the mention of her name. "But know that she prays for you often."

"It is best that she not be bothered with my well-being," Kain replied stoically, as though he had suddenly sobered.

"You can't let what happened at Zot tear away your friendship, Kain."

"Did she tell you what I did to her?" Kain growled, knuckles turning white as he grabbed a fistful of grass to keep his nerves steady. Cecil didn't answer immediately, which nearly drove Kain into an outburst. Had he waited any longer, the fire may have been extinguished.

"Yes," was all that Cecil offered, not wanting to discuss it any more than Kain did. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"Then you know why…why I may never be able to face her again." Kain cooled down, still finding the strength to temper his fury with himself.

"Yet, you were able to face me," Cecil responded sincerely. "In time, I think you can find a way to reconnect with her, as well."

"Hmm…" Kain grumbled a bit, wishing the conversation would veer into another direction far from here.

"She's pregnant, you know," Cecil confessed. Kain's eyes closed, his head bowed slightly, and his heart twisted in silent anguish. Cecil could see it in his face, the feeling of sickness as though a dormant plague had suddenly awoken ravaging his insides. But Cecil hoped that this would help him push through his feelings for her, knowing well that Kain's lust was for the white rose of Baron. "I just found out a few days ago in a letter she wrote to me."

"Is this why you have chosen not to fight?" Kain directed the tangent. He looked at Cecil with pressing eyes, as though it truly grieved him that Cecil would not join him in this effort. Cecil met his gaze, pushing through the alcoholic fog to ensure the clarity of his words.

"Yes," Cecil admitted, staring confidently at Kain, boring through his accusation. "I do not want my children to grow up not knowing their father, as I did. I want them to have a better life."

"You are King, Cecil, how much better could life be?"

"That is not what I mean, Kain," Cecil responded curtly. Kain diverted his eyes, knowing he would lose this argument. "Titles, riches, glory…they are all shallow victories. Love and family are what make life worth living."

Kain didn't say anything, and Cecil knew he would not get any response. Their lifestyles were now worlds apart, and Cecil knew this part of their relationship would be tougher to bridge. Cecil decided to play a bit of devil's advocate in an attempt to get him talking again.

"Besides, how do we even know that there is anything out there to fight against?"

"Your father told me," Kain replied sternly. Cecil's eyes went wide and white.

"My father?! Did you see the light at the shrine?"

"He spoke to me," Kain continued. "Not directly. I did not see him. He simply delivered a message. A voice that I still hear from time to time."

"What did he say?" Cecil asked, now sitting upright and fully alert.

"He said that an ancient evil has awakened," Kain spoke to the flames, never turning his eyes to Cecil. "And…"

Cecil waited for Kain to finish the sentence, hanging on every word as he craved any connection that he could make with his family. When Kain didn't continue immediately, he became impatient.

"And?!"

"He said the dark heart shall shepherd the light," Kain finally answered.

"The dark heart?" Cecil questioned, more to himself as he pondered what that could possibly mean. It then struck him like a hammer to the anvil. "You believe you are this dark heart? That's why you came to me?"

"That is part of the reason," Kain replied. "But the point is moot if you do not wish to engage this threat, and I do not blame you for not willingly offering yourself in light of your recent family affairs."

"I'm sorry, Kain. I cannot commit to anything yet," Cecil replied. "Perhaps when we have a better idea of what is to come, but even then I don't know that I will be able to venture into mortal danger again. As a King I must be more responsible than that. But as a King I also have vast resources that I can deploy if and when it is necessary. Trust that my absence on the battlefield does not mean that I am not in the fight."

Kain once again fell into silence, and Cecil didn't know what else to say. It seemed as though the night would end with this bitter dispute, like a foul spirit that never leaves its haunt. Surprisingly, Kain was the next one to speak.

"Let me be your swordarm, Cecil."

"What?"

"The message from your father," Kain began to explain. "The word shepherd has many meanings. Perhaps you are not meant to fight. Perhaps you are to be protected. Allow me to fight this battle…for you…for Rosa…for myself."

"Kain, I cannot ask you to make that sacrifice," Cecil pleaded.

"You do not need to ask, Cecil," Kain replied, turning to look boldly into Cecil's eyes, sharing this moment of openness. "I am capable of choosing my own path, and this time I will choose the right one. I have nothing to lose, and much to prove. Allow me the honor of proving to myself that I deserve the title of savior."

The space between them at once seemed comfortably narrow and impossibly wide. Cecil never wanted this, his best friend feeling this deep-seeded need to prove himself out of regret and hopeless penitence. He knew now why Kain had brought him here, plied him with whiskey, created this atmosphere. It was the only way that they could ever have shared anything real, the only way the truth could ever come out. And it was the only way that Kain knew Cecil would agree to such a proposal.

"Okay," Cecil finally conceded.

"Thank you, Cecil," Kain responded, finally allowing a slight grin to creep into the corner of his mouth. He turned back to the fire, watching Cecil's tower of logs crumble in a sad heap, extinguishing most of the flames. Only the faint red glow of the embers was left after the shower of flickering ash rained down upon them.

"You really did a terrible job with the fire, Cecil," Kain's shadowed silhouette mocked.

"Oh, shut up."

 


	15. The Lies We Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil has another memory dream about his mother that leaves him questioning his convictions. Rydia has to make a decision about Agleson.

Cecil awoke, startled by a sense of something that he could not place. The moonglow barely illuminated his surroundings, as a thick fog had settled in. The fire was nothing more than black ash, but the smell of it still lingered, hanging like memory in the stillness of the night. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed Kain was nowhere to be found, the grass still bent where he laid down. He turned behind him to find that the chocobos were also gone, only the bones of the raven left as any evidence that they had been there at all. Cecil began to worry, as he stood up to try and get a better vantage of his surroundings.

               “Kain?” Cecil called out, but heard nothing in return. Even the chirp of crickets had died, a perfect absence of sound. He was not about to give up. “Kain?!”

               There was still no response, and Cecil began a spiraling search pattern around the campfire, looking for any sign of his friend. The fog seemed to only get thicker the farther he strayed from camp, and the trees began to look identical, like shadowed sentinels guarding secrets that none should know. He soon realized that he was lost, unable to recognize any signs that would lead him back to camp. Becoming desperate, he cried out once more. 

               “Kain!!”

               This time he got a response, but not the voice of his friend. They were whispers, faint but undeniably there. He couldn’t make out what words were being spoken, or from where they came, but something inside him urged him to move in a certain direction. He followed this instinct, guided towards the soft, enigmatic voice by this strange feeling, a warmth in his chest. He then saw a glow through the fog before him, much like that of a small fire. Cecil sped up his pace as he neared the source of the light, the voice becoming louder and more salient. He stopped for a moment when he realized that he knew this voice, and he listened briefly just to be sure before he sprinted towards the flame.

               “There there, SeSol,” Matoya cooed to the fussy baby in her arms, swaddled in cloth. “Everything will be alright.”

               Cecil could see her clearly now, as though a column of clarity parted this space from the surrounding fog. He stood before her, watching the firelight play with the shadow of her thin nose on her soft cheek. She bounced and rocked the little baby gently in an attempt to get him back to a comforting sleep, but the child seemed resistant. He did not cry or wail, but rather just seemed agitated, as though he knew something was amiss. Cecil felt that warm sensation in his chest stronger now, and he looked down to see his crystal oscillating beneath his tunic, its light reaching through the fabric. He sat down next to his mother, as he prepared to take in this forgotten memory.

               “There are so many things that I wish I could tell you, my child,” Matoya spoke as she gazed lovingly at the baby in her arms. Her voice quivered slightly with her next words. “So many things your father would have liked to tell you.”

               Cecil wanted to reach out to her, but he knew it would be fruitless. He could not interfere with these memories, only look on as an outsider. He sat patiently for every word.

               “Your father…” she began before she choked up, biting back the urge to let her tears loose. “Your father had great plans for you, SeSol. But now…” she took a moment to wipe her wet cheek on her shoulder. “I cannot possibly let you fall victim to his hopes and dreams. I will not lose another son the way that I lost HaMut. You will live free of this fate, I promise you.”

               Cecil was dumbstruck, as the reality of his mother’s decision came into the light. He felt it sink like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

               “He said you are now the last hope for humankind,” Matoya continued, her gaze now peering through the fog, into the distant darkness. “That you will have to make great sacrifices to ensure the safety of this world. But I will not let that happen. I must have faith that FeRos will assume HaMut’s role as our protector. And you, my sacred son…” Matoya returned her smiling eyes to the child, who seemed more at peace now. “You will live a normal life.”

               Matoya then stood up and began to walk away, Cecil quickly following suit. He walked by her side, watching her stride through the dark forest with purpose, the hemisphere of clarity growing wider as they pushed through the mist. She wore a brave face, in spite of what she was about to do, as though she had finally come to terms with her decision. Cecil was unsure just what to make of this, but he wondered if his mother knew that he would see this memory, for if she did she never would have lied to him in Mysidia.

He was so focused on her and his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that the surroundings had suddenly changed, the fog and the forest fading away, and in its place the draw bridge of Castle Baron at sunrise. The castle didn’t look nearly as formidable as usual, but he was quick to notice that several spires were still under construction. Cecil followed Matoya across the bridge where armed guards paced before the main portcullis. As Cecil’s mother approached, one of the guards broke away and stepped forward to halt her before she could enter.

“State your business here, traveler,” the guard probed.

“I have an urgent request for the King,” Matoya spoke firmly, unwavering.

“I have no orders from His Majesty regarding any expected guests in the kingdom today,” the guard assured her. “Do you have any papers to present?”

“Show this to your King,” she ordered as she handed the guard a piece of tattered parchment that looked as though it had seen many centuries of age. She bounced the baby in her arms as she waited impatiently for his response. “He will know what it means.”

“I cannot allow this, madam,” the guard persisted. “If you do not have a formal invitation I cannot allow you on the grounds, and certainly not to have an audience with His Majesty.”

“You _will_ take me to him,” Matoya spoke with quiet strength. The guard was about to say something but then his face went suddenly pale. Cecil watched as his mother’s eyes began to glow bright white, her irises and pupils fading into the light as she whispered words he could not understand. The fog again grew thick around them and an intangible feeling of cold began to creep into the air, as though the sun’s warmth could no longer reach their skin. Her ash-green locks began blowing wildly above her as they were lifted by the swirling mist, closing in with every second that passed. It soon became so dense that everything around them was blanketed in opaque gray. As if cut off from the outside world, everything fell into a calm, eerie silence. The guard was now alone with Matoya, thin vines of mist curling around each of them, and the head of a white dragon hung menacingly over her, glaring with an impenetrable stare. The baby in her arms was surprisingly calm, as though he knew this dragon was his guardian. The soldier, however, could not take his terror-stricken eyes off the serpent, its low hiss clearly stripping any confidence he may have had as the resonating sound slithered into his soul.

“Y-Yes, madam,” the guard sputtered. “My apologies. I was unaware that you hailed from Mist. His Majesty will be eager to speak with you.”

As quickly as the words left his mouth, the scene returned to its previous tranquility, as though nothing had ever happened. The mist vanished, along with the apparition, and the guard quickly beckoned her to follow. Cecil hurried after, amazed at her bravery, but then the surroundings began to fade to black.

“No…No, don’t leave me yet!”

As though his memory had heard his words, he found himself standing in a small courtyard. He immediately recognized it as the King’s private garden. The voice of his mother caused him to about face, as she stood behind him speaking to the King himself. It was not the man that Cecil had grown up with, but rather an older reflection of him. The father of King Odin VII was one of many in the honored lineage of the legendary Odin of Stonehaven, the son of a miner who rose to power in Baron’s military during the Great Civil War 200 years ago. Odin’s great victory in the last stand against the rebellion sealed his reputation as the Champion of Baron, and when the then king passed without an heir, the nobility unanimously voted for him to take the throne, beginning a long and distinguished royal line that ended abruptly during the Crystal War.

King Odin’s bald, freckled scalp contrasted sharply with his full, well-groomed gray beard, the wear in his face foreshadowing his son’s nearing ascendancy to the throne. Yet his stature still commanded respect, his royal regalia pressed with Baron’s valiant colors, and his brilliant blue eyes were both gentle and strong. Between him and Matoya lay the baby in a wicker basket, tucked in with a fresh, royal wool quilt, staring curiously up at each of them. Cecil watched as Matoya pleaded with the King.

“You know what this sigil means, do you not?” she asked with a demanding tone, something King Odin was likely not used to. Strangely, His Majesty seemed complacent, humbled even. Cecil walked around them to try and get a look at what was inscribed on the parchment in his hands, but the letters were garbled. The only clear image was a symbol at the bottom: an inverted triangle inside of a circle, its three points touching the circumference, smaller circles around each point. “This pact has been in place for a millennium, and I trust that you are aware of the implications should it be broken.”

“Yes, madam, I understand,” King Odin spoke reverently as he pored over the parchment, running his fingers over its soft fibers as though it were some holy artifact. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “We will accept this child and place him within one of our noble houses. Lord and Lady Harvey are in need of an heir and cannot have children of their own. He will receive most excellent care here.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she accepted, still remaining surprisingly strong in the face of giving up her son. Cecil wondered if she was hiding it, if she would break at any moment. Her voice never cracked as she continued. “You are never to speak of me to SeSol. He will know these Harvey’s as his true parents. I cannot stress enough how important this is.”

“Of course, madam, but—” His Majesty stopped midsentence when he looked up and saw that Matoya was gone, as if she had evaporated like dew with the sunrise. Cecil was taken by surprise as well, as he had also been engrossed in the symbol on the parchment. Both he and King Odin stood, speechless, staring at the empty air where here figure once was. A small hiccup below brought both of their eyes down to the basket, the baby still gazing with wide blue eyes at anything and everything. The King knelt down and placed a hand over the child’s chest, rubbing it tenderly as he spoke. “You are going to make someone very happy, little one. Cecil, is that what your mother called you? It would only be right to keep your true name, to honor her sacrifice.”

Cecil was nearly overcome with sadness, as he witnessed the moment that he lost his connection to his family. He closed his eyes to hold back the swell of emotion, and when he opened them he was looking up at a cloud-scattered orange sky, Mysidian pine trees reaching into the heavens. He lay there for a long while, unmoving, drowning in these forsaken memories, watching the clouds roll by as though the world still spun without consequence. The clarity of his past, he was finding, was not begetting clarity at all. The answers to his questions only led to more questions.

After his moment of brooding, he sat up to see the smoldering ash of the campfire, but immediately grabbed his head as a dull, throbbing pulse assaulted his temples. Clearly hung over, Cecil was slow to get up as he grumbled something about never again or killing Kain when next they met. He fought back the urge to wretch as he stood on his feet and his head began to spin. He saw a jug on a nearby stump that was of a different color than those the night before. He grabbed it and took a sniff to be sure that it was not just more whiskey. When his suspicions were confirmed he gulped the entirety of its contents greedily, the cool water satisfying his parched palette, and easing the mild sense of vertigo.

When he was finally able to collect himself and take in the morning air, he glanced around to find that Kain had already left. His helm and spear were gone, as was his chocobo. Cecil figured he had his morning rituals and chose not to attempt a search out of respect. He stumbled over to his own massive steed, still rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to squeeze the remaining alcohol out of his gray matter. The chocobo stood as he approached, which would only make it more difficult to mount in his condition.

“Down, boy!” Cecil commanded with frustration. The avian mule just snorted. “Damnable bird!”

**:::::::::::::::**

Kain looked on in amusement as Cecil wrestled with his chocobo, finally launching himself on top of it in less than graceful fashion before reorienting in a riding position. As Cecil rode off towards the village, Kain continued to watch over him from his perch high above in the canopy, raking a small throwing knife across his cheek as he shaved the stubble away. In a moment of carelessness he nicked his chin, and he felt the warmth of a small rivulet run down his neck. He took his thumb and applied pressure to the small cut until he was sure it had clotted.

As he sat there holding a thumb to his chin, he held up the small knife, turning it in his fingers as he studied every line, every edge. He had kept this knife for some time, and he remembered vividly how he got it. When he betrayed the world for the second time, he never expected to make it out of the Sealed Cave alive. He very nearly didn’t, had it not been for Cecil’s interference.

When he wrenched the satchel with the crystal from Cecil’s arm, he knew he had too far to run to escape unscathed, but he blindly bolted for the exit with every muscle in his legs pumping furiously. He remembered hearing Cecil scream at the ninja, telling him to stop, and then a searing pain emanating from his left shoulder as the throwing knife missed its intended target: the small sliver of exposed skin on his neck between his helmet and backplate. Cecil had saved his life, once again, despite giving him every reason not to. At first, Kain kept the blade purely for revenge, fully intending to use it to kill the ninja. But now, it was a reminder of the mistakes he had made, and the man that had allowed him to make up for it.

When he finally lifted his thumb from his chin, he glanced at the stain of red left upon it. A flash of distant memory ran through his mind: bloodied hands, rapid breath, a man in dark armor laying lifelessly before him. The vision vanished as quickly as it came, and he looked out into the distance towards the village as Cecil disappeared through the thick of the trees.

He knew what he had to do. He knew what it would take. He only hoped that Cecil would not stop him this time.

**:::::::::::::::**

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Rydia stirred beneath the sheets as the piercing light of the morning sun shot through the window, striking her eyelids as she rolled over. Her hand instinctively covered her eyes as she groaned, clearly not ready to start the day. Reluctantly she began to slowly push herself upright, sliding so that her back rested against the headboard of the bed. She pulled the sheets up around her chest as she felt the chill of the morning air brush against her skin. The tangled mess of green curls atop her head was even more frightening than usual, but Agleson wasn’t about to tease that beast this morning. He watched her from the table by the window, already dressed for the day, quill in hand, its tip resting on a page of papyrus.

“Is it?” Rydia grumbled as she tried to run her fingers through her hair to rub her head and failing. “I have a headache that begs to differ.”

“Are you having regrets about last night, already?” Agleson lightly jested, seeming a bit timid about what transpired.

“Last night was…” Rydia trailed off softly, losing herself in thought as she stared at the ruby red silk spilling down her body. Agleson refused to breathe until she finished her thought, beginning to feel like she may actually be having misgivings. She then looked at him, with her beautiful green eyes, and her lips broke into a wide smile. “…it was amazing, Agleson. I’ve never felt so free…so alive.”

Agleson let out his breath and smiled in return, both of them seeming rather shy about it as they watched each other in silence. Rydia eventually glanced away again as she rubbed her forehead.

“I only wish I wasn’t paying so handsomely for it right now.”

“There is some juice on the nightstand there for you,” Agleson offered warmly. “A special blend of fruits that is guaranteed to relieve that squeeze you’re feeling inside your head.”

“Thank you, Agleson,” Rydia replied as she turned and took the glass of reddish-orange liquid eagerly. She took a generous sip before she sighed with satisfaction, leaning back against the headboard with her eyes closed. She basked in the flavors as it reminded her of waking up for breakfast back in the village of Mist. Her mother used to make juices like this. Sweet, tangy, enervating. She was already beginning to feel refreshed, and as she took another sip, she noticed the quill moving in Agleson’s hand as he scribbled on the parchment. “What are you writing?”

“A confession,” he said without looking up, as though he needed to finish placing a thought on the page before it was lost forever. Rydia looked perplexed.

“A confession of what?”

“Of my love…for you,” he replied, emphasizing his point with a tap of the quill before looking back at her with a smile. Her cheeks turned as rosy as the juice in her hands, and she nervously glanced away to take another sip. He decided not to tease her this time. “Feeling any better?”

“Yes, thank you,” she responded, still too bashful to look at him, though she couldn’t help but smile. She finally worked up the courage to turn her eyes back to him as he continued to write. “Is it poetry?”

“Some might call it poetry,” he replied with a self-depricating chuckle. “I certainly do not hold myself to the esteem of the Songs of Seraph and Mithros.”

“The old songs of love and loss…” Rydia spoke with quiet wonder at the mention of the names. Agleson stopped writing as he looked at her with intrigue.

“You know of them?”

“Of course,” she responded with a smile. “My mother would read me those poems nearly every night, mostly at my request. You know how some stories just…stick with you?”

“I do,” Agleson said with wonder. “I am surprised. I thought Mist was more isolationist.”

“While we never really let outsiders in, we did sometimes send our people out to barter for goods that we could not find in the valley. My father, before he died, was one of these travelers,” Rydia explained. “I always enjoyed reading new books that he brought back with him.”

“So you know how the story goes?”

“I know it by heart,” she said. “I would recite it to the spirits in the underworld to keep…” she paused for a moment as it hit her. “…to keep some memory of home.”

“I know the feeling,” Agleson empathized. “The stories I tell on my travels never fail to remind me of where I came from. How simple words can evoke such feeling is one of the reasons I became a bard.”

“Would you share your simple words with me?” Rydia asked so sincerely. Her eyes were like shimmering emeralds in the sunlight. To her surprise, his cheeks began to flush, and for the first time she saw him lose his typical swagger.

“It is not complete, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please?” Rydia begged, partly to continue poking his diffidence as he had done to her so many times before. He smiled through a breath of concession as he laid the quill to rest on the table and stood up to take a seat next to her on the bed.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Rye Rye” Agleson began as he removed his shoes so that he could lay next to her, taking her hand in his as he gazed at her delicate fingers. “I have told you many stories and songs that I have written. I think it is your turn to serenade _me_. So if you will recite for me the Songs of Seraph and Mithros, then I will read to you what I have written thus far.”

“In its entirety? We’ll be here well into the afternoon.”

“How about just your favorite canto, then?” Agleson negotiated willingly. Her face seemed content with this offer.

“Deal,” she agreed with a wide grin. She finished her juice and laid the glass upon the nightstand, feeling much better than when she had first awoken. She cleared her throat in an exaggerated fashion, as she believed a true storyteller might do. Agleson chuckled as she sat upright and proper. She gave him a playfully threatening glance, suggesting he should not interrupt her lest she forgo her part of the bargain. As she spoke, Agleson became quiet, soaking in her voice like swimming through a warm ocean current.

_She saw him there in the garden like a stone guardian of the heart of hearts, fragile as the sun dancing on the lily leaves resting peacefully on the still pond._

_How she longed for him to turn upon her, to twist the steel of him in her fingers like the rose vine around the border fence, if only so that he may know her._

_Long now she watched as the sun deepened, quiet shadows stretched little by little until the shade of him had nearly touched her, and her skin shivered like temptation._

_Silent and still as he rose against the sunset she remained a ghost of all senses, his steps harsh with purpose, rippled earth felt in her bare soles. Wanting. Waiting._

_Nothing more than the beat of her heart moved, yet he turned in the sun’s waning glow towards her hollow, knowing yet not knowing, the spur of instinct thrust against him._

_Neither pushed against the wind at their skin as the sun’s last words slipped by, like the last throne of heaven crumbling, leaving neither word nor whimper into night._

_Breath was a phantom departed, opalescent eyes revealed her and she knew him well to see that chance was beyond their employ, this game of serendipity was at last won._

_A shift more magnificent than any twilight took her within an ever folding envelope, unfolding a new truth as she first stepped forth into his eyes, knowing she was a ghost no more._

When she had finished, the only sound they heard was the whistle of wind through the window, their mutual silence a shared respect for what was often considered the greatest of the old songs of history.

“You tell it beautifully,” Agleson finally broke the silence. He couldn’t help but grin like a lovesick fool at her, and her cheeks blushed even more than before. “And it is refreshing to hear the Eblani translation, as I’m so used to the version of my homeland.”

“I had no idea it was a translation,” Rydia admitted with a pique of interest.

“Yes, its language of origin is long dead, I believe,” Agleson explained. “The Mysidian translation is considered to be the most accurate, but each nation has put their own flourish on the story, and the true meaning of the words may never be known since its author predates written history. The first written account of the words claimed no ownership, but rather suggested that it was passed down orally from generation to generation.”

“And do the translations vary greatly?”

“Choice of words is an art in its own right,” Agleson responded. “Take the third canto, which you just recited. The Eblani poets use the words _phantom_ and _ghost_ to describe Seraph as this invisible entity, as of yet unseen by Mithros until the penultimate stanza. We might owe this to their own self-reflection of a society overseen by the Ninjitsu. The Damcyani translation, however, describes her more as a vagabond wearing a mask that hides her true face.”

“That is fascinating,” Rydia whispered as she thought about how it changed the tone of the passage. “I’ve only ever known this one translation, and I’ve loved it ever since I was a child. I can’t imagine how I might have taken to it if the words had been different.”

“Simple words,” Agleson replied with a grin.

“Which reminds me,” she began as she playfully shoved him off the bed towards the table. “I believe it’s your turn, my good gentleman.”

“But of course,”Agleson responded as he meandered over to the table, lifting the parchment before slowly making his way back towards the bed. He was about to sit down when a loud knock on the chamber door drew both of their eyes open wide in surprise, each of them nearly jumping out of their skins.

“Lady Rydia, Her Majesty wishes to have a word,” a servant bellowed through the heavy, wooden chamber door. Rydia immediately leapt from the bed, leaving the sheets behind to find something in the armoire, hiding behind its towering, hand-carved panel.

“I’ll be but a moment!” Rydia yelled as she hurriedly put on the first set of clothes she could find: a tan-linen, knee-length hooded robe and a white-silk, sleeveless surplice with intricate scarlet embroidery along the hems. While she was no longer able to cast white magic, she could’ve fooled any lay person with this garb. When she was finally dressed she called out once more as she shut the door to her armoire and quickly tried to act natural. She caught Agleson across the room eyeing her with a humorous grin. “Come in!”

The chamber door groaned and creaked as the servant pushed it open, a draft quickly coursing through the room and departing through the hallway. The servant stood at attention once the door was fully opened, and Queen Rosa stepped through the entry with grace, her royal robes trailing like a smooth, milky stream, with several attendants in her wake. Once inside the room she noticed Rydia and Agleson standing at opposite ends of the small room, both looking somewhat disheveled. Especially Rydia. Especially her hair.

“Leave us,” Rosa commanded her entourage, trying to hide the glimmer of glee that was dying to burst from her. Somehow she maintained a straight face as they filed out of the room, and the door shut behind them. Now that it was just the three of them, Rosa let a wide smile stretch into her cheeks. “So…how was your evening?”

“It was…” Rydia stumbled for a word, any word that wouldn’t cause any more embarrassment than what already filled her reddened cheeks.

“Restful,” Agleson chimed in from the other end of the room as he folded the parchment in his hands and tucked it into a breast pocket on the inside lining of his red-suede petticoat.

“I’ll bet it was,” Rosa responded as she cast her implicating eyes towards each of them. She let a brief giggle out before she continued. “Well as much as I would like to let you two continue getting your…rest…I do have some news concerning the symbol on that bolt you brought with you yesterday.”

“Do you know what it means?” Rydia asked excitedly as she made her way over to her friend who was pulling the small arrow out from beneath her robes. The reaction on Rosa’s face was mixed.

“Unfortunately, no,” she began with a sigh of frustration. Agleson shuffled over to listen as she continued. “There is certainly magic radiating from it, but it is does not fall under any modern classification and our libraries are regrettably scant on the ancient magics. One of our scholars believes that he has seen this symbol, or something like it, in the libraries of the Mysidian Abbey, however. I think you should take this to the Elder there and see what he can make of it.”

“So we must endure another week’s voyage on the high seas?” Agleson asked with polite disdain. Rosa cautiously eyed Rydia before answering his question.

“After careful consideration and deliberation, our healers believe we can treat your wound, Mister Ardwick,” Rosa began, giving him a look of assurance. “Trust that we can handle any adverse effects from malignant enchantments that may arise during the process. You should stay while Rydia takes the journey to uncover the meaning of this mysterious symbol.”

“Out of the question,” Agleson responded curtly. Both Rosa and Rydia were taken aback by his defiance.

“Agleson, don’t be silly, you _need_ to have your wound healed,” Rydia pleaded, still looking a bit surprised at him, as though she was waiting for him to snap out of it.

“I will not leave your side, Rydia,” Agleson responded gently, but sternly. “I will not allow another attempt on your life. I told you that I would protect you, without condition. To have to wait a fortnight before I know you have returned safely would be too much to bear.”

“She will not need to be gone for a fortnight, I can assure you,” Rosa spoke calmly as she tried to assuage Agleson’s concerns. “She can take the Devil Road. Cecil sent word a few days ago that our portal should be unsealed, and though our security commission is still in negotiations with the ministry of trade over the proposal, I have the executive power to cut through the bureaucracy in this particular situation. She could be back as soon as tomorrow morning.”

“See? I’ll be fine,” Rydia followed up swiftly, reaching for Agleson’s hand which felt strangely clammy, as though he was nervous. She assumed he was simply worried for her. “And Cecil will be there, so I will be in good company. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Worry about _you_ this time.”

“Rydia, please,” Agleson begged as he looked at her with longing eyes. Her own questioning stare broke his will, and he diverted his plea to Rosa. “This magic, if there is truly any behind it, has shown no signs of detriment to my health, as of yet, and there is no indication that it should any time soon. I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but if you do not know the nature of this magic, then I do not wish to take chances that we may not be able to afford.” He gathered the strength to return his gaze to green-haired beauty before him. “If you will be back tomorrow, allow me to go with you and then I will submit to Baron’s healers upon our return.”

The three of them stood in awkward silence as the arguments were weighed and measured. No one could muster a counter to Agleson’s points, and Rosa seemed pressed to comply with Rydia’s wishes as she watched her for reaction. Rydia was locked in a stare of equal stubbornness with the man before her, but she had never been good at negotiating, and only one solution came to her mind. Her eyes closed as she conceded with a sigh.

“Okay,” she whispered through the silence. “You can come with me.”

“Thank you,” Agleson responded with a smile as he squeezed her hand tenderly. He then turned to make his way towards the bed. “Allow me to don my shoes and we can be on our way.”

“Could you give us a minute, Rosa?” Rydia asked her friend, who still seemed bewildered about what had just happened. Rosa obliged, pulling the door open just enough to slip through. Rydia came behind her to close the door, and Rosa turned with worried eyes. She was surprised to see the green-haired summoner giving her a brief grin and a wink. That was all the hint Rosa needed, giving a silent nod as the gap between them closed with a soft, reverberating thud.

“Is something wrong?” Agleson asked as Rydia turned to him with a conflicted face, somewhere between sadness and shame.

“Agleson, I think it’s really sweet that you care so much for me, that you want to protect me wherever I go,” she began, trying hard to keep her eyes on his despite the nagging tug of apprehension. She walked towards him as he sat on the bed, only managing to replace one of his shoes before he stopped altogether to take in her words. “But I wish you would reconsider. I care for you, too, and I want to do what is best for you right now. Maybe I should stay and we can travel to Mysidia after you have been healed.”

“But we are so close to figuring out this little puzzle,” Agleson responded as Rydia came to stand before him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked up at her glistening green eyes. “I think we should go to Mysidia together, and once we learn the true nature of this magic we’ll be better prepared to handle anything that might happen. The healers in Mysidia may actually be able to take care of me there if they have any knowledge of its origins.”

She had exhausted her willingness to continue the argument, but she hid her fluster well. The moment of truth was upon her, as two seemingly conflicting forces within her were oddly pulling her in the same direction. She cared deeply for this man, but wanted desperately to make this journey alone. Yet she could not bring herself to be so callously honest with him as to refuse his company. She opted, instead, for another strategy.

“Do you trust me?” Rydia asked softly after her moment of introspective silence. Agleson’s eyes had never begged like this before, their struggle like a war of love and sacrifice.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Would you do anything for me?”

“Rydia, I—”

“I’m not asking you to stay,” she gently interrupted as she lowered her lips to his brow, leaving a long, loving kiss upon it, her hands holding his head tenderly. When her lips left his warm skin she placed her forehead against his, eyes closed tight as she whispered her true intention. “I’m asking you to forgive me.”

“To forgive you for wh—” Agleson began to ask before a sudden somnolent sensation came over him, his eyelids growing ponderous, and he heard the softest sound of a foreign language. “To forgive…to for…”

Rydia released her glowing hands as the sleep spell took effect and Agleson fell back onto the feathered mattress, completely unconscious. Rydia quickly made her way to the door, pulling it open to find Rosa and her attendants still waiting patiently in the hall outside. Rydia ushered them in, nervously biting her lip as they witnessed the product of her machinations.

“I cast a fairly strong sleep spell on him,” Rydia explained anxiously. “He should be out until tomorrow morning.”

The attendants appeared emotionless, waiting for their Queen’s command. Rydia glanced at her friend, expecting disapproval, but was quickly reassured to find her smiling.

“I must say, my dear Rydia, you can be quite mischievous when the moment calls for it,” Rosa commented with a grin as she turned to her attendants, waving her hand as she delegated. “Lift him carefully. I want all of you focusing on the levitation so that he is not roused. Let us get him to the infirmary immediately.”

The attendants surrounded the bed and began chanting with their arms outstretched. His body moved like a fluid as it lifted off the mattress, smooth waves of magical energy coursing beneath him. His body seemed lifeless, only the crest of his chest and a light snore providing any clue of his pleasant slumber. Rosa snapped her finger and directed them to follow her as she guided Rydia into the hallway with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not exactly proud of this, Rosa,” Rydia said, staring down at the stone tiles moving beneath them as they walked through the castle corridors. “I’ve been with him every day for the last two weeks, and it has been wonderful. Last night was…” she trailed off as the memory reflexively made her smile.

“Restful?” Rosa finished the thought with a playful nudge. Rydia’s face flushed once again in response, but she looked at Rosa with a satisfied grin.

“ _Very_ restful.”

“I can tell,” Rosa said as her eyes shifted to Rydia’s tangled web of hair. “And if you don’t wish to broadcast it to the rest of the kingdom then we really should do something about that mess on top of your head.”

Rosa brought everyone to a standstill as she lifted her hand, waving it lithely about Rydia’s head while whispering a few words. As she did so, Rydia could feel the strands of her hair gently moving, lightly tugging and unwinding until one by one, thick locks of green came loose and began to drape her shoulders and back. When Rosa stopped moving her hand she pointed to a mirror they were about to pass in the hallway. Rydia looked shocked to see all of the knots had been teased out, and her hair had never looked so full and gorgeous.

“You _must_ teach me that spell,” Rydia said as she ran her fingers through her emerald curls, which now felt smooth as silk. Agleson made a loud snort before smacking his lips. Rydia turned back to see his head turned to the side, still sound asleep, a string of drool dripping from the corner of his open mouth. She giggled as they continued on. “I hope he can forgive me. If all goes well I’ll be back before he rouses. As much as I’ve enjoyed the time spent with him, I am relieved to be taking this brief journey on my own.”

“Having space is sometimes just as important as being there with the ones we love,” Rosa spoke reassuringly. “Although I do wish I was going with you to see Cecil. I miss him dearly.”

“Does he know?” Rydia asked cautiously, briefly glancing at Rosa’s belly before looking back at the attendants to ensure they did not overhear.

“Yes, I sent word several days ago,” Rosa responded with a smile, her hand rubbing her abdomen, as though she could feel the life growing inside of her. “He’ll be relieved to have someone else he can speak with about it, I’m sure. I told him not to tell anyone until we can make a formal announcement, but it must be itching to burst from him by now.”

“I couldn’t be happier for the two of you,” Rydia beamed as they rounded a corner and began descending a flight of stairs to the main hall. The sounds of a thriving kingdom began to grow as the small corridor opened to a massive open area, tall ceilings held up by marvelous arches, the banners of Baron’s heraldry hanging elegantly overhead. Soldiers, mages, bureaucrats and aristocrats alike all strode through this busy rotunda, the crossroads of the castle. Rydia loved every sight and sound as she soaked in the atmosphere. “This will be such a wonderful place for your children to grow and learn of the world.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Rosa said with a smile as she slowly came to a stop. She turned to her attendants and gave them instructions to take Agleson to the infirmary. “I will assist Rydia at the portal of the Devil Road and return to check on our patient.”

“Rosa, I want to be assured that he will have the best care,” Rydia sincerely pleaded. “I chose to leave him behind because I trust you more than anyone, even the Elder of Mysidia. I want you to be there when you attempt to heal his wound.”

“Of course,” Rosa graciously complied. She turned to her attendants once more and instructed them to wait for her before proceeding with anything beyond placing him in a hospital bed. They all bowed before the Queen and then continued on their way towards another corridor off the rotunda, Agleson still dozing peacefully as he floated by, one foot still missing its shoe. Rosa turned to Rydia with a smile, extending her hand to guide her towards the main gate.

Conversation was difficult to maintain within the rotunda as the noise of castle business echoed through the great chamber, along with the fact that every nobleman stopped them to bow and offer their graces to the Queen or to ask for her support on this issue and that. The ministry officials also took the rare opportunity to catch her out and about to have her sign off on minor business ventures or castle renovations. Rydia was impressed with how well she handled herself, always maintaining her composure and dignity despite the constant interruptions. But she could also see the strain that this put on the young Queen, as she noticeably shortened each subsequent encounter, and she refrained from smiling or being overly friendly. Once they finally walked through the giant portcullis into the public courtyard, the clamor fading behind them, she seemed to rejuvenate as they were graced with sunlight and nature’s whispers. Rosa finally smiled again as she decided to pick up the conversation where they left off.

“So where will _your_ children grow and learn of the world, Rydia?”

“ _My_ children?” Rydia responded with a laugh. “Getting ahead of ourselves, are we not?”

“Well it never hurts to plan for the future,” Rosa came back with a wink. “I’m not saying that you and Agleson should be married on the morrow and have a litter of babies thereafter. I’m just wondering what your dreams are.”

“I think I could be happy here,” Rydia admitted as she looked around at the beautiful blue sky, the perfectly trimmed topiaries, and the bustle of pleasant people all around. “You and Cecil are the closest thing that I have to a human family. I feel like that is what I really need right now. A family.”

“We would be overjoyed to have you make your home here,” Rosa responded warmly and honestly. They made their way through the last portcullis, the village spread out before them just beyond the drawbridge. Rosa glanced down at Rydia’s garments, noticing she had to readjust them several times on their walk. “Since we’re heading into the village together, perhaps we can take a moment to visit the tailor before we send you off? You look a bit uncomfortable in those clothes.”

“By the goddess, yes!” Rydia exclaimed excitedly as the robes continued to bunch up in all the wrong places. “I don’t know how your white mages stand it. I feel like I’m being constricted by a naga with every step!”

“You always were of a less-is-more mentality when it came to your garb,” Rosa jested with a giggle. “Not that Edge ever minded. I caught Kain stealing glances at you more than once, too.”

“This coming from the woman that stripped down to her undergarments before the court of Toroia in a drunken bet of honor?” Rydia came back with a gleeful grin.

“You heard about that?!”

“I’m fairly sure the whole world heard about it,” Rydia confirmed with a laugh. “I first heard it from the dwarves when I visited King Giott. I heard it again from Agleson in Agart, so I’m sure everyone there knows. He said he heard it from his sources in Damcyan, so I’m sure everyone there knows, as well. I would say your secret is safe with me, but apparently it’s not exactly a secret.”

“Oh dear,” Rosa just sighed as she brought her hand to her face in humiliation. “I may never live this down.”

“Don’t worry, from what I’ve heard they say your beauty humbled every Toroian woman in the court,” Rydia tried to reassure her friend.

“Well then, I suppose there is a silver lining, after all,” Rosa chuckled as she shook her head. They continued on into the village, speaking of life, love, and laughter, basking in the warmth of their invigorating friendship and the kiss of the morning sun. The sigil on the bolt continued to glow, tucked away in the shadows of Rosa’s robes, quietly humming its enigma as it waited patiently for its inevitable release.


	16. The Family We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil is reunited with an old friend, and gets another chance to speak with his mother. Meanwhile, Rosa tries to heal Agleson's strange wound.

 

 

               The morning sun diffused through the parted curtains of his mother’s room, filling the space with a soft, white warmth. Cecil sat at the desk, bent over a piece of papyrus, his fingers curled around a quill as it fluttered like a falcon flying over a field of wheat. The feathered stylus suddenly stopped, as it had been doing all morning, his focus constantly lost as his dream continued to repeat itself in his mind. Every time this happened, his eyes reflexively moved to his mother resting peacefully at his side. Her soft, quiet breath and the steady oscillation of her crystal was an assurance that she was still with him, but the mixed messages that he felt he was getting from her now kept the usual smile from his face. All he wanted was an explanation, something to bring some clarity at a time when he had just begun to find peace with his convictions.

               He went back to the letter he was writing, a note to his loving wife with a desperate request for her presence here in Mysidia. At this moment he felt like he needed her more than ever; to have her words of wisdom and reason, to have her reassurance of his feelings, to have her arms to fall into. He yearned to talk to her about their future family, and how they would celebrate the news when they made the formal announcement. He craved the connection that seemed so distant now, like the long strokes of ink stretched across the page as he wrote the words _With All of My Love_ before laying the quill upon the smooth wood of the desk.

               He was about to begin folding the letter when he heard a commotion outside. Something had stirred the villagers, as several voices rang out, not in alarm but in a bustle of excitement. Cecil listened carefully to tease out individual strands of words, and he quickly realized that they were talking about someone entering the village. Standing to leave, Cecil took one last glance at his mother before stepping into the morning light, turning to look towards the village entrance, only to see no one gathered there. He then turned toward the voices and saw that a mass of people were gathered around the entrance to the Devil Road. This piqued his interest greatly, and he began walking with a vigorous gait towards the commotion. The closer he came the clearer the words fell on his ears.

“Lady Ambassador,” he heard a woman say as she bowed, yet the crowd was still too thick to see what awaited him.

“We are honored with your presence,” another mage bowed in reverence. The suspense was eating at him now, as clearly someone of great importance was visiting the village from Baron. Cecil politely tried to wedge his way through the crowd to get to the heart of the throng.

“What brings you here to Mysidia, Lady Ambassador?”

“I’m here to see…”

Cecil recognized the voice immediately, and pushed through to the front of the pack with a smile full of hope as he laid eyes on a friend he had not seen in years. Her jade-suede sundress under a matching silk cope caught the shimmering green curls spilling down her back, and her emerald eyes found his, triggering a release of pure elation. She didn’t even finish her sentence before she ran into his wide open arms, her face buried in his white-silk tunic as his chin rested softly her head, the world around them disappearing for a moment as they quickly fell back into familiar friendship.

“I am so happy to see you, Rydia,” Cecil whispered as they maintained their warm embrace.

“And I you, Cecil,” Rydia replied before finally releasing with a step back, looking at him with glistening eyes and a brimming smile.

“I had no idea that you had returned from the underworld,” Cecil began excitedly, what seemed like the whole town watching their conversation with patient silence. “I would have made arrangements to be there when you arrived in Baron, had I known.”

“I didn’t have a chance to notify anyone, really. It has been an…interesting two weeks past,” Rydia said, her face suggesting there was a long story to be told. The time for stories would have to wait, however, as the crowd suddenly parted, and both of them turned to the newly emptied space to see the Elder striding towards them with an eager smile pulling at his long beard.

“Lady Ambassador,” the Elder greeted her with a humble bow.

“Please, Elder, you may call me Rydia,” she responded politely.

“Of course,” he replied. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Lady Rydia?”

 “I wish I could say it was a pleasure visit, but I do have serious business with which I believe you could help,” Rydia answered as she pulled the crossbow bolt from beneath her cope. Whispers in the crowd spread like leaves in the breeze. Cecil saw the gleaming blade atop the shaft, reflecting the white glow of sunlight as well as another hue in the shape of a symbol, a symbol he quickly recognized.

“Where did you get that?” Cecil blurted out reflexively.

“From an assassin in Agart,” Rydia responded with a puzzled look. “Have you seen something like this before?”

“Not the arrow, but that symbol…” Cecil lost himself in wonder as he stepped closer to examine it. The Elder drew near, as well, gazing at the glowing rune. “I have seen something like this…in a dream that I just experienced…with my mother.”

“Are you saying that your mother is somehow connected to Agartian assassins?” the Elder questioned with a look of skepticism.

“No, I…” Cecil began, but he was quick to realize just how little he actually knew of his mother. Surely _this_ could not have been true? But the symbols were remarkably similar, too much so to be a coincidence. “I…I don’t know.”

“Cecil, are you okay?” Rydia asked with concern as she watched her friend’s distressed expression. He suddenly reached impatiently into a back pocket of his breeches and pulled out a small piece of folded parchment. He opened it and showed it to Rydia and the Elder with trepidation.

“I drew this as soon as I returned to the village, while the memory was still fresh in my mind,” Cecil said, showing them the inverted triangle surrounded by a circle, three smaller circles around each point that touched the circumference. The resemblance was uncanny, but Cecil’s drawing lacked the two concentric circles around the outside, and it bore no sigils within the symbol on the bolt.

“This is truly intriguing. I have also seen this symbol, but the meaning is not within my grasp,” the Elder said as he stroked his beard, trying to search his own memories for any links he could conjure from his life of knowledge. He quickly concluded that it was time wasted to continue on his own. “May I take both of these and show them to my historians? Their breadth and depth of knowledge on ancient symbols and magics could prove more useful than my old, weary eyes.”

“Of course, Elder,” said Rydia as she willingly handed over the bolt. “I am hoping your libraries will have the answer tucked away somewhere.”

“And your drawing, Cecil?” the Elder requested with hand outstretched. Cecil, however, was lost in thought, not even paying attention as he traced the lines on the page with his eyes. “Cecil?”

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry,” Cecil said, finally snapping out of his daze as he handed the parchment to the Elder, who took it with pensively from the Paladin King’s shaking hands. Rydia looked on with concern for her friend, and she laid a tender hand upon his arm.

“Is everything alright, Cecil?” she asked. Cecil managed to push his angst aside and break through with a smile.

“Yes. It has been an interesting two weeks past for me, as well,” he responded as he placed his warm hand upon hers. “And I would like nothing more than to speak with you about all that has happened. Perhaps we can find some privacy in my mother’s hut.”

“I shall disperse the crowds for you. Once again, we are honored to have you here, Lady Rydia. If there is anything that you need, do not hesitate to ask,” the Elder spoke with a reverent bow before he directed the mob to get back to their daily routines. As the clouds of people parted and cleared, the village seemed much more expansive around them. The Elder made his way with the bolt in hand back to the Mysidian Abbey, leaving Cecil and Rydia to stand together with effervescent smiles between them.

“It is funny that you should arrive on this day, Rydia,” Cecil began as he guided her on his arm towards the thatched hut down the dusty path. “I was just writing a letter to Rosa insisting that she come visit for a day through the Devil Road. I’ve been desperate to speak with her about…certain things.”

“Like the new addition to your family?” Rydia said with a knowing grin.

“She told you?” Cecil looked shocked.

“Yes. I think she has been anxious for someone to talk to, as well.”

“Oh, thank the gods. I thought I was the only one that had let the news slip out before the announcement,” Cecil said with a chuckle. Rydia gave him a curious stare, eyebrow quirked with a hint of surprise.

“Who else knows?” she asked before she suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing Cecil to reel back slightly. He looked at her with concern as her eyes seemed tense and intently focused on something down the road before them. “What is _he_ doing here?”

Cecil turned his gaze toward the entrance to the village to see the shimmering blue dragon knight walking towards them. He quickly recalled that Rydia did not have much respect for Kain. After his betrayals during the war and his absence at Cecil and Rosa’s wedding and coronation ceremony, her only memories of this man were of how he had hurt her and her friends. These memories made it especially difficult to care for him, and without any attempt on his part to seek forgiveness, she had little desire to give it to him. Cecil didn’t have much time to allay her concerns, but he had to say something before Kain was upon them.

“Please, go easy on him, Rydia,” Cecil pleaded with those honest, barrier-breaking eyes that Rydia had no defense against. “He is trying to make amends, and I truly believe he wants nothing more than to make peace with all of us.”

“I will not put on a false smile for him,” Rydia replied, followed by a sigh of concession. “But I will keep my judgements to myself, for your sake. I just don’t want to see him hurt you again.”

“Thank you, Rydia. That is all I can ask.”

Kain slowed when he saw Rydia, whose glare was not warm, but not overly hostile. He also knew well enough that she did not consider him a friend, but rather dealt with him on Cecil’s behalf. His seemingly emotionless silence and aloof demeanor during those times when he fought at their side did him no favors with her, and he knew that if Cecil had not acted as the bridge upon which their battle party stood, she would never have ventured with him. He stopped before them, saying nothing as his eyes shifted anxiously between Cecil and Rydia.

“Good morning, Kain, it’s good to see you,” Cecil greeted him with a smile. The awkwardly upbeat tone of his voice made it patently obvious that he was trying to smooth out the tension. He followed Kain’s cautious glances at the summoner. “Rydia has just arrived from Baron through the Devil Road and we were going to—”

“Sir Cecil!” the sound of the cleric’s voice rang out not far away, eagerly beckoning them toward Cecil’s mother’s hut. “Your mother has just awoken!”

Cecil waved his hand to acknowledge the message before turning back to his two friends with an excited smile. All of his mixed emotions regarding his mother were washed away in a wave of pure joy from just knowing that they would get the chance to speak with each other one more time. He wanted nothing more than to share in this joy with two of his dearest friends.

“Would you two please join me?” he asked eagerly. “I would like you to meet my mother.”

“I do not wish to make things…uncomfortable,” Kain responded hesitantly, taking notice of Rydia’s narrowing eyes.

“Please, Kain, I _want_ you to meet her,” Cecil came back with honest warmth. Kain didn’t show any change in his face, but he wanted nothing more than to accept the offer. His eyes darted back to Rydia, who actually gave him a slight nod, despite her dour face. The small gesture was enough for him to acquiesce.

“Then I will follow you.”

**:::**

               Baron’s infirmary was a comforting place, with plush beds lining the walls and dual torch sconces between each headboard. The warm orange light radiated through the soft-white privacy curtains looped from the tall ceilings, casting the normally stark granite in a heavenly glow. Few of the beds were occupied, as injuries and illness were exceedingly rare in times of peace and prosperity, but one bed in the center of the room happened to be at the center of all the healers’ attention.

               Rosa stood patiently by the bedside, Agleson lain atop the sheets, his bare chest slowly rising and falling as he continued his peaceful slumber. The nurses had prepped him as instructed by the Queen’s highest circle of white mages, their various tonics and potions set out in order, a trail of mithril dust carving a partition of the floor around the bed, a spirit barrier to ward off—or potentially contain—demons and corrupting spirits. This had become a routine quarantine procedure for any unknown magic since the Crystal War, as injured soldiers had at times become possessed by demons as they were being healed and consequently slain their healers. Such demonic possessions had not occurred since the end of the war, but these safety measures were now a part of their regular protocols.

The Queen took a long inhale, closing her eyes as she mentally prepared herself for the task ahead, releasing any nagging insecurities with her exhale.

               “Let us begin,” Rosa announced to her mages, six in all who stood around the bed in an oval, standing just outside the line of mithril dust. They each held out their hands, like angel wings preparing to lift this life into the next. As they did so, the mithril dust at their feet began to glow the color of sunlight striking pure, polished silver. A hazy curtain, like a sunbeam through a stormcloud formed along the barrier line before bending into a hemisphere, indicating that the spell was in effect. Rosa turned to each of her circle and gave a nod before putting her hands side-by-side, palms facing downward over Agleson’s wound.

               “I shall begin with a healing spell,” Rosa spoke loudly but calmly. A nurse standing behind the mages scribbled notes on parchment. Rosa chanted her spell. “ _E…su…na._ ”

               Her hands began to glow a light green hue, like fresh leaves born from a bud. The light flowed from her hands down to Agleson’s skin, where it crawled across the flesh and into the wound itself, filling it with healing energy. It lasted only a moment, and when Rosa finished the spell she moved her hands away and observed the results. She was not completely surprised that nothing had happened, that the wound still remained unchanged. She tried not to let it get to her, but she huffed as she turned to the scribe standing just beyond the barrier.

               “No effect,” Rosa said, hiding any hint of frustration. She was actually enjoying the challenge, being a part of an arcane mystery that could potentially lead to some new breakthrough in magic. Getting to practice her craft at all these days was reason enough to be here, much less her promise to Rydia. “I shall now try a regen—”

               Before she could finish her sentence, she noticed something change in Agleson’s breathing pattern. She thought it might simply be an effect of the healing spell, but it seemed slightly erratic, as though he was beginning to labor for air.

               “Please note that the patient is showing signs of mild distress,” Rosa commanded without taking her eyes off of the man on the bed before her. Her brow furrowed a bit as she monitored him closely for a moment more, which was when she began to notice something seeping out of his wound. A thin, winding rivulet of black ichor crept from the lower edge of the wound, and began spreading across his chest towards his heart. She began to recite her findings to the scribe. “Something is happening…there is a black effluent leaking from the posterior edge of the wound, and it’s…moving _up_ his body. I am diagnosing this as corruption. Preparing to administer a purification spell.”

               To fight the corruption of those brought to the infirmary, white mages in the upper echelon had learned to hone curative magic spells to singular points on a person’s body, rather than bathing them in a healing aura, which often wasted precious magical energy. This craft had been so finely perfected that highly experienced healers could actually pinpoint the source of corruption within a person’s body and eliminate it with the power of holy light. Rosa had been at the forefront of this new frontier of white magic up until she deserted Baron to join Cecil in Kaipo. Upon her return at the end of the war, she continued working on this branch of magic until it was perfected. Now she finally had a chance to use it.

               “ _Ex…pur…go_ ,” she chanted as she pointed a finger at the base of the black snake drawn across Agleson’s skin. The pinpoint of light appeared at the tip of her finger, like a star against a pitch black sky, and within moments the ichor dissolved where the light touched skin. She drew the line that the effluent had made until it vanished completely, leaving no trace of the corruption. Rosa breathed a soft sigh of relief. “The corruption has been eliminated. But the wound still remains. Patient seems stable, but his breathing has become more rapid. I shall continue with a regenerative spell.”

               Rosa brought her palms over the wound once more. “ _Re…no…vo_ ,” she chanted as her hands began to glow bright white, the holy energy raining down upon the tender tissue. She was satisfied to see that the skin began to mend, the slit slowly closing from both ends. She wanted to make sure that it would work, so she held her spell longer than she thought was necessary, and she began to feel the energy drain from her body. She would have kept going, but she stopped when she noticed something startling. Multiple black tendrils were now worming their way across Agleson’s skin, all originating from where the wound had once been. They were spreading exponentially, and Rosa feared she could not purify them all on her own.

               “The corruption is spreading quickly,” Rosa alerted everyone as she began to frantically position all of her fingers along various base branches of the corruption. “Attempting to purify.”

               All of her fingertips formed a pinpoint of light and she began running them along his skin all around the point of origin, trying to break the branches and cut off the growth of the ichor. But there were simply too many of them, and they continued to manifest in new places across his chest and back, crawling faster with each second that passed. Agleson began to convulse on the bed, at which point two nurses rushed to restrain him. His eyes were still shut tight, and he remained silent, until one of the tendrils finally crawled up the back of his neck and wrapped itself tightly around his skull.

               His eyes then shot open, and he began to scream, a skin-peeling screech that caused everyone to wince. Rosa saw the whites of his eyes as he stared blankly at the ceiling, still writhing from what she imagined was incredible pain. That’s when she noticed the ichor filling his eyes until they became solid black, like orbs of pure onyx. And then all at once, every torch in the infirmary extinguished.

**:::**

Seeing her awake never failed to make his heart beat a little faster, make his surroundings seem a little brighter. As Cecil stepped through the doorway, his mother beamed at him, despite needing the help of the clerics just to sit up. Her eyes lit up with surprise when two unexpected guests followed behind her son: the young woman with brilliant green hair and pleasant smile, and the towering knight removing the dragon from his head to reveal his handsome, clean-shaven face and blond hair tied back in a short ponytail. They stood behind Cecil, who waited with a patient smile for the clerics to finish prepping her before making their leave with humble bows.

“SeSol,” Matoya’s voice came out with a scratch, followed by a harsh cough. Cecil was quick to hand her the cup of water at her side. She sipped it slowly, though her hands were shaky, and Cecil found that he had to keep a hand on it to guide it without spilling. Though he knew that this meant her condition was only getting worse, he did well to hide it behind his smile. When she was satisfied he laid the cup back upon the table, kneeling at her side with his hand wrapped around hers. “Thank you, SeSol. You have been a good son to stay with me for so long. It makes me so happy to see you when I wake. How long have I been asleep?”

“It has been over a week now,” he replied as he lovingly ran a finger across her forehead to brush a lock of hair from her face. He refrained from telling her that it had been a much more trying week than the last.  He couldn’t bring himself to initiate that uncomfortable conversation just yet, and he honestly wasn’t sure just how he planned to broach the subject. “I imagine the gaps will only continue to grow each time. How are you feeling?”

“I am fine,” she replied with a sad smile, as though she knew the pain that hid behind both of their faces, the truth of her declining condition that lurked just below the surface. What she didn’t see was the pang of conflict that pricked the back of her son’s mind. They gazed at one another for a silent moment before she peeked over Cecil’s shoulder to catch the glances of Kain and Rydia behind him. “Who are your friends?”

Cecil stood as he turned to the two standing behind him with a smile, welcoming the distraction from having to confront her about his dreams. He ushered them forward with a wave of his hand, allowing them the space to slowly move away from the doorway. As they came into the candlelight, Matoya’s eyes noticeably brightened at the sight of the summoner, who gave a polite curtsey.

“You are…” Matoya began, almost like a startled reaction for which she was not prepared. “You are the one from Mist, are you not? The summoner that traveled with Cecil during the war?”

“Yes, that is correct, Miss…?”

“You may simply call me Matoya, my dear,” she replied with a smile.

“My name is Rydia, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Matoya,” Rydia said with a smile in return. She turned her head to her shoulder when Cecil’s gentle hand landed upon it. She looked up to see him beaming at her.

“I thought you might like to meet one of the founders of your native home,” said Cecil, to which Rydia’s face turned in shock to the frail woman on the bed before her.

“You are from Mist, as well?” Rydia asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

“Indeed I am, child,” Matoya responded considerately, humbly, sounding to the summoner much like her underworld mother, Asura. “Although I was not born there, I did move to the valley with Cecil’s father to establish the village. It…” Matoya stopped to hold back a surge of emotion that threatened to break. “It was not easy to leave, and even more difficult to hear of Mist’s ultimate fate. I’m just glad that such an honorable memory of our people lives on in you.”

“This…” Rydia was nearly struck speechless at the words she was hearing. “This is incredible. I…” she stumbled, unable to put the words together fast enough. “I feel like there are so many questions I should ask you, but I…”

“I felt the same way, Rydia,” Cecil broke in with a chuckle. “There is a lot that you and I can both learn from my mother. Unfortunately, our time is limited due to a curse that sends her into a deep sleep for days, so we must consider our conversation carefully.”

“I’m so sorry, I do not wish to waste this valuable time with my stuttering babble,” Rydia withdrew with a humble bow, conceding the floor to Cecil. She was surprised to see Matoya reach out to her.

“Please, child, take my hand,” Matoya called her back warmly. Rydia approached reverently, looking at Matoya’s worn face, her twinkling eyes and her ashen-green hair raining down the quilts wrapped around her frail frame. “You may ask me anything.”

Rydia lifted her hand to gently hold Matoya’s dry, weathered fingers. Despite the rough texture of the aged lines in her palms, there was undeniable warmth flowing from her. The sensation only intensified as Rydia wrapped her fingers around the tender skin, and it culminated in a brief pulse that they each clearly felt between them. Matoya’s eyes suddenly shut tight as she gasped.

“Are you alright?” Rydia asked worriedly.

“Mother?” Cecil also came back to kneel at his mother’s side, watching carefully as she took in a deep breath before releasing it and opening her eyes once more. Her gaze fell thoughtfully upon the summoner still holding tight to her hand.

“Rydia, you must tell me,” Matoya began with a renewed vigor in her voice. “Who was your mother?”

“My mother?” Rydia seemed confused about the line of questioning, but after taking a moment to collect herself she answered respectfully. “My mother’s name was Yuna.”

“YuNa,” Matoya repeated with gentle emphasis on each syllable, her face taking on a look of tearful joy, her lips tucked in as though she was trying to keep from crying. “The White Wind. Such a beautiful child.”

“You knew my mother as a child?” Rydia was in complete awe, ready to soak in every word and memory that the woman before her would divulge. She had not felt this connected to her old home in so long and the feelings running through her were still a bit alien and bewildering.

“I did. She was very close with Cecil’s brother, as I remember it.”

“She was close with Golbez?” Rydia looked at Cecil quizzically, but he looked just as perplexed.

“Not that brother, dear. With his middle brother,” Matoya corrected politely, her smile widening as she watched Cecil and Rydia’s stunned faces, holding back what she had just learned for a moment before asking her next question. “Tell me, dear, what was your father’s name?”

Cecil’s eyes suddenly began to widen as he connected the dots that Matoya was sprinkling into the conversation, a joyful smile waiting to be released behind the suspense of Rydia’s answer. Rydia had no clue what this all meant, still sorting out the confusion of emotions that swirled around this moment. Matoya just smiled as she caught the eager anticipation on Cecil’s face.

“My father…his name was Feros.”

**:::**

The shadowed figure knelt before the stalagmite jutting up from the cavern floor, blue flames floating overhead like ghosts wandering through purgatory, waiting for judgement. Their silent dance cast cold light throughout the belly of the mountain, playing with the shadows of its features on the walls, reflected in the pools of still water that occasionally rippled with a drip from the stalactites.

Resting atop the stone pillar before the figure robed in black was a large glass sphere, empty and void. Suddenly, the glass sphere began to glow a pale, eerie red, like the last breath of embers before falling to ashes. The man cloaked in shadow finally stood, pulling back his hood to reveal the white skin of his bald head, the dendritic web of ichorous veins wrapped around it. His lifeless eyes peered into the orb expectantly, a slight grin beginning to form on his cold, blue lips. His spell had finally been activated.

A vision began to take shape within the glass as the sanguine glow brightened around the circumference of the sphere. When the aura finally reached its peak, the scene within the orb became clear, and he saw a curtain of holy light surrounding him. Three shadowed faces suddenly appeared in his view, two males and one female. Shin-Ra wasted no time getting to work, and he reached up with both hands to lift the glass sphere from its perch, at which point he assumed complete control of the subject, seeing and hearing everything that Agleson did.

“Is he alive, Your Highness?” Shin-Ra heard one of the male nurses ask the female white mage, whose ornate attire suggested she was of especially high rank. The nurse’s address indicated that she was in fact the Queen of this particular kingdom. He recalled that Queen Rosa was a friend of the summoner during the war, and he felt a rush of eager anticipation at being so lucky to land in her lap.

“Pulse is steady, as is his breathing,” the Queen replied. “But the corruption has fully taken hold of him. We should keep him quaran—”

Shin-Ra watched as he commanded Agleson’s hand to take hold of Rosa’s throat, squeezing with enough force to make her struggle but ensure she would not die. He then commanded Agleson to sit up as the two male nurses rushed to free her. One of the nurses attempted to restrain Agleson, while the other began to run to the other side of the bed to try and pry Rosa from his grip. Shin-Ra was quick to put them down, swiftly moving Agleson’s hand to the belly of the nurse that was unsuccessfully trying to push him back down onto the bed. In a split second, the hand morphed into a solid black spike, piercing the nurse’s abdomen and erupting from his back, shattering his spine in the process. The spike retracted just as quickly, becoming a hand once more, and the nurse was dead before he hit the floor.

Shin-Ra then commanded Agleson to extend a finger from his free hand, pointing it directly at the other nurse running around the bed. His finger turned black and stretched inhumanly until it writhed like a tentacle before lashing out at the nurse. At the moment the tentacle contacted human flesh, there was a flash of light and a crack like a whip. The nurse was killed instantly as he fell to the floor, his vacant stare glaring up at nothing, as though his soul had been vanquished from its mortal shell.

When the tentacle retracted, it became a finger once more, and Agleson stood up, still holding tight to Rosa’s throat, lifting her off the ground slightly as he did. She began to flail against his restraint, but it was obvious that his strength was far beyond hers, and there was little hope of escape. The mages that maintained the spirit barrier cried for help as their Queen was helpless against her assailant.

“Where…is…the summoner?” Shin-Ra asked through his new vessel, the deep resonating voice mixed with Agleson’s charming tone producing a terrifying sound. Rosa continued to struggle, gasping for breath, until finally she went limp in his grasp. Despite her loss of consciousness, she was not entirely useless to him. Her loyal subjects would likely do anything to save her. Shin-Ra lifted his free hand as it transformed into a dark blade, preparing to deliver a mortal blow.

“Your Queen shall perish if you do not bring me the summoner,” he demanded, glaring at each of the mages beyond the curtain of light, waiting impatiently for some kind of answer. He motioned threateningly, as though he would drop his dark blade through the lifeless body in his hand, but before he could bring the blade down upon her, he was thrown back by a ball of light that came from outside the barrier. The shockwave from the attack caused him to drop Rosa to the floor as he flipped backward over the bed, landing hard on the stone.

Shin-Ra could hear the rush of footsteps as he commanded Agleson to stand, slowly rising from the blow. Once he was back on his feet, he saw two mages carrying Rosa through the curtain. He quickly leapt on top of the bed and lunged for them, but came up short as he hit the spirit barrier, dropping like a rock to the floor once more. He stood up again, snarling with a powerful growl, the mages maintaining the barrier standing strong despite the fear they were undoubtedly feeling. Agleson paced the barrier, glaring at each mage with his lifeless black eyes, testing the barrier for weaknesses and gaps that he could exploit. He found none.

“Release me!!” he bellowed at them, the echoing rumble of his monstrous voice like an aural earthquake. “Release me, and I shall end your suffering!”

The mages carrying Rosa had disappeared from the room. The six mages maintaining the barrier remained to contain the foul spirit before them. Behind them the scribe still stood, pencil and parchment in hand, watching carefully. She was noticeably shorter and stouter than the mages, likely of dwarven descent. When Agleson’s eyes—Shin-Ra’s eyes—met hers, his lips curled into a wicked grin as she gave him a nod.

**:::**

“What?” Rydia asked awkwardly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cecil looked as though he might burst from excitement, his eyes brimming and his attempts to contain a wide, goofy grin were hardly passable. Rydia turned her eyes to Matoya, who was already shedding tears of joy, and then her breath left her lungs as Cecil wrapped his strong arms around her, lifting her from the ground in a hug of pure bliss.

 “Oh, Rydia do you have any idea what this means?” Cecil cried happily as he swung her in circles, holding her closer than ever before. He finally set her down, and she wobbled a bit, slightly dizzy from the sudden rush of motion. She shook her head with a laugh.

“I’m afraid I’ll need something more to go on, Cecil,” Rydia replied.

“Feros…your father…” Cecil began through fits of crying laughter. “He was my brother!”

“You mean…” Rydia took a step back as the shock of this revelation finally hit her. “You mean we are…related?”

“Yes!” Cecil replied excitedly, kneeling before her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, Rydia, you are my brother’s daughter…my niece.”

“By the goddess, Cecil, I don’t know what to say,” she conceded as her own eyes filled with tears of elation. Without thinking she fell back into his embrace, shutting her eyes tightly as she let the floodgates of her emotions drain onto his shoulder. They held each other for a long moment of bliss, and when the last of their tears were exchanged, they parted with smiles of awe and delight. Neither of them could have prepared for news such as this, and they both seemed somewhat awkward towards each other for a moment, as though they were meeting for the first time.

“I feel as though this changes everything and nothing at the same time,” Cecil finally spoke, feeling somewhat mystified as he looked upon the niece he never knew he had.

“Deep down, I’ve always considered you…you and Rosa…to be my family,” Rydia confessed with a smile. “Now…I don’t have to imagine it anymore.”

Rydia’s lip quivered at the thought, as the swell overwhelmed her once more, and they shared another embrace as the warmth of the light within the room filled their souls.  Their final moment only ended at the sound of armor shifting uncomfortably in the corner of the room. Cecil glanced over to see Kain peering nervously at the exit, as though he was considering an escape with the current distraction taking everyone’s attention. To Cecil’s surprise, Kain remained, a small gesture that felt all the more significant to him now.

“We’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted,” Cecil said as he stood up. “We should not waste this precious time with mother…or should I say your grandmother?”

“I must say I am thrilled to have lived long enough to see a grandchild,” Matoya said with a gleeful smile. Rydia came to her side and held her hand once more.

“And I am glad to have met you, grandmother,” Rydia replied with genuine joy.

“And of course I’ll need your help when I begin my search for your father, Rydia,” Cecil said. The sincerity of his offer was almost as shocking as the revelation that he was alive, as she spun around once again with eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

“What do you mean?” Rydia begged. “My father died when I was a child. I was _there_ for his funeral. I _saw_ the villagers lower him into the ground.”

“What?” Cecil was baffled. He turned to his mother as he pulled FeRosYa’s crystal from beneath his tunic. “Mother, does his crystal not have a faint aura? Am I deceiving myself?”

Matoya took the crystal and examined it carefully, twisting it in her fingers. She could not deny that there was a haze of red that kissed the edges of every facet. With a cursory glance it would appear vacant, but a hint of aura was present. She shook her head after a moment, as though she could not manifest an answer to this conundrum.

“I cannot say if this is your brother’s aura,” Matoya began cautiously. “Or if it is simply sensing the presence of his blood in Rydia. His crystal has been hollow for many years, it would seem unlikely for him to have suddenly reappeared alive and well.”

“You think it could just be reacting to Rydia?” Cecil asked, somewhat deflated. He turned to Rydia with expectation. “When did you depart the Land of the Summons?”

“It has been two weeks since I reentered this world,” Rydia answered.

“Then that may explain why I was the first to notice the aura,” said Cecil, his eyes cast to the crystal in his mother’s hand. “You must have already been in the upperworld when I first noticed the light.”

“You seem troubled by this, SeSol,” Matoya noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, mother, I just…” Cecil began before he realized he was not the only person whose feelings on this matter were at stake. Rydia did not seem entirely upset, as she clearly believed her father was dead, but Cecil did not want to continue pressing a theory that went against the known facts. He pushed a smile to his lips in an attempt to break the tension. “Nevermind, I have discovered a new family member today, and that is something to celebrate. Rydia, this crystal was given to your father when he was first born by my mother and father. They whispered his name until it filled with light, binding his spirit to it.”

“Yes, child, as it went with HaMut before him, and SeSol after,” Matoya continued. “His name, FeRosYa…it means The Phoenix, Rising to the Light.”

“So my father…was a Lunarian?” Rydia asked.

“A half-blood, yes. Your mother, however, was a full-blooded Lunarian,” Matoya replied with a grin. “You probably have more Lunarian blood flowing in your veins than your uncle, in fact. It is why summoning comes so naturally to you, my dear. You may even have the lifespan of a Lunarian since I believe that trait seemed to only follow maternal lineages. Your grandfather would have known, he studied those things in his spare time. Pedigrees, passing of traits across generations and whatnot. I didn’t have the mind for it like he did.”

“How long do Lunarians live?” Rydia queried, uncertain she was prepared for the answer.

“Oh, on the order of a thousand years or so, my dear,” Matoya answered matter-of-factly, as though it wasn’t something anyone should be concerned about.

“A thousand years?!” Rydia blurted out rather embarrassingly, once again suffering the shock of revelations that seemed to be doled out by the minute.

“Give or take a century,” Matoya added. Cecil came to Rydia’s side to calm her.

“You may end up outliving us all, Rydia,” Cecil joked with a smile. She conceded with a sigh and a smile in return.

“That is not something I wish to think about right now,” she replied as she rubbed her head in an attempt to hasten the processing of all this new information.

“Rydia, my dear, I want you to have this,” Matoya spoke as she lifted the crystal to the green-haired summoner. “You are its rightful heir. Let it always remind you of the courage your father showed by remaining in Mist despite my objections. I now believe he made the right choice, and you are the living validation of that belief. I see his strength of will in you, my child, and like the phoenix that rises from the ashes, you were also reborn from the flames that consumed Mist. You fought for this world, despite having everything taken from you. Please take this, as a memory of your father and may it always give you the courage to rise against adversity.”

“Thank you, Matoya…I mean grandmother,” Rydia graciously accepted the crystal, lifting the chain over her head and lowering it until it draped the smooth skin of her neck. The crystal rested peacefully upon her chest. “It feels warm. Do you think it…knows me?”

“It is possible, although again I am not as experienced with this as your grandfather was,” Matoya confessed. “You will notice that SeSol’s crystal shines brightly, as it reacts to his presence. It is bound to his spirit. It is possible that you carry a piece of your father’s spirit in you.”

“The way you pronounce Cecil’s name…is it Lunarian?” Rydia asked.

“Yes. His given name is SeSolYa, which means Sacred Son of Light,” Matoya answered.

“And the name HaMut was mentioned earlier,” Rydia continued to probe. “That refers to Golbez?”

“Yes,” Matoya responded kindly, but with brevity.

“He apparently assumed a new name when Zemus corrupted his mind,” Cecil jumped in, knowing well that it was a tender subject for his mother. He didn’t want her to relive that again if he could help it. The sound of a derisive huff could be heard across the room, and everyone turned towards its source. Kain had not expected everyone to overhear him, and now felt incredibly awkward with all eyes upon him. He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, as though he simply had a tickle that had been bothering him before.

“And what about you, young man?” Matoya asked the brooding dragon knight, who seemed mortified to suddenly become a part of this conversation.

“What _about_ me?” Kain responded, attempting to temper his usual curt demeanor. Lucky for him, he was a man who found it easy to respect maternal figures.

“There is no need to hide by the door, I do not bite,” Matoya said with a laugh, beckoning him with a wave of her hand. Cecil smiled as he saw his friend break and begin a slow approach. Rydia tried her best to let her guard down, but she could only muster a weak grin as he stepped into the candlelight by the bed. “So how are you connected to our little family?”

“I’m afraid I do not understand the question,” Kain responded. He looked to Cecil for some suggestion, but Cecil seemed just as lost as he.

“I mean where does your Lunarian blood come from? Who were your parents?”

“I’m sorry, but I believe you are mistaken,” Kain replied, waving his hands somewhat frantically to wave off any ideas of him being of Lunarian descent. “I was born of parents native to Baron. I have no connection to Mist or the Lunarians.”

“That is strange,” Matoya responded. Her lips pursed as she studied him for a moment. “I sense a presence in you. Something very familiar. I swear it feels as though HaMut is calling to me.”

The room was silent. Cecil made the connection almost as quickly as Kain did, and Rydia wasn’t far behind. Matoya was the only one left out of the loop in this particular case, and Cecil took it upon himself to clear up this misunderstanding.

“Mother, my friend, Kain,” Cecil began, stopping briefly to collect the most diplomatic words for what he was about to say. “HaMut used dark magic to corrupt his mind, to turn him against all of us during the war. What you are likely sensing is the imprint that HaMut left on him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Matoya replied earnestly, holding out her hand in offering. “I did not mean to bring up such painful memories. But may I ask you, do you still feel him? Still to this day?”

Kain did not answer at first. He looked away at the canvas wall, watched the light of the candle play with shadows in the folds of the fabric. Each crease held two faces, he noticed. Behind every soft white face, there was a cold dark shadow. A memory flashed through his mind: a howling, cold night; lightning flashes through a window of the bedroom; a frightened face appears and disappears.

Rydia watched carefully as the dragon knight considered the question before him. At first she felt a reflexive anger towards him for being so disrespectful in making Matoya wait for an answer, but when he turned back they locked eyes for a brief moment, and she saw something she had never seen in him before: fear.

“Yes,” Kain responded quietly.

“So then he…” Matoya began, her eyes telling him that she knew what he had gone through, that she could feel the torture he must have endured. Her hand was still extended to him, and to Cecil and Rydia’s surprise he reached out for her. When their fingers met, curled around each other, it was as if they suddenly shared their experiences, as though she had been there with him all along. Matoya’s eyes closed for a moment as she felt the spirit of HaMut reaching through to her, speaking to her, and she knew exactly what that meant. She knew the methods that HaMut had used to coerce him. She opened her eyes again and a single tear streaked down her cheek. “I am so sorry, Kain. You have suffered more than any man should ever have to bear. What HaMut did to you…I would understand if you could never forgive him. I only hope that you find a way to release that piece of yourself, to let go of what has been done so that you may continue to do what you know in your heart is right.”

“I…” Kain let out, sounding unusually frail. “It…was a pleasure to meet you, but I…” Kain stammered as he tried to control his emotions. He dropped his hands to his sides, nervously rubbing his thighs. He looked visibly shaken. “I do not wish to waste what little time you have with your son. I should go.”

Without waiting for Cecil’s protest, Kain turned and stepped out into the daylight, disappearing around the corner of the receded canvas drape. Everyone sat in silence, staring at the doorway as though they expected him to come back. But he never did. Cecil worried that the man he knew may never return, that the damage to his psyche was irreparable, but he stubbornly pushed that angst aside, refusing to believe it for more than a fleeting moment.

“He needs you, SeSol,” Matoya’s whispered voice carried softly to his ear, turning his attention to her woeful face. She looked as though she had felt the specter of a loved one, the excitement of recognition quickly shattered by its disappearance. Cecil wondered what Golbez had done to leave the mark of his spirit on Kain, a brand that lingered for over two years. Cecil could see the pain in her eyes, and he knew that she was thinking of HaMut’s turn against the family. It seemed to be its own haunting brand on her thoughts. “He needs someone that he can trust, for he clearly does not trust himself. You must be the one to show him that someone can have faith in him again, faith that he will do what is right for this world. As much envy and hatred as HaMut was able to dig out of him to turn him against you, he still cares for you and respects you a great deal. It may not be my place to tell you this, but he harbors considerations of his own self-destruction.”

“You mean…some part of him wants to die?” Cecil asked with quiet alarm. “You were able to sense that just now?”

“Yes,” Matoya responded worriedly. She glanced at Rydia, who was listening intently, her face also full of concern. “Though not of his own will or nature, he carries the blood of HaMut in his veins. With it he carries the fear that he will lose himself to it once more. But he cares for all of you. And he will ultimately need all of you to get through this. He has inadvertently become a part of this family, and as such he should have our support.”

Rydia’s eyes suddenly fell to the quilts that her hands rested upon, still kneeling at the bedside. She couldn’t bear to look at her grandmother knowing the resentment she felt for Kain, and she was surprised to actually feel so ashamed of it now. She glanced back towards the doorway, replaying the dragon knight’s anxious exit just moments ago.

“Could he still turn against us?” Rydia asked, turning back to Matoya with a look of serious concern. “Could Gol…I mean HaMut’s blood still cause him to become evil?”

“It would not be HaMut’s doing,” Matoya assured her green-haired grandchild. “But left to his own devices, he may convince himself that he is filled with darkness, and he may even embrace it. If you do not wish for that to happen, then he needs to be surrounded by as many people that care for him as possible.”

“He has hurt us…” Rydia began, turning her eyes to her uncle now, sadness filling her face. “…hurt _you_ so many times before. I will _not_ let that happen again.”

“Then when he asks you for your forgiveness, and let me be clear you must wait for _him_ to ask,” Cecil started, the severity of his tone suggesting that she should take heed of this condition. “When he asks, you must be prepared to forgive him.”

“How do I prepare myself for that?” Rydia whispered.

“Talk to him,” was Cecil’s only response.


	17. Kain's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kain goes to see the Elder of Mysidia to seek some answers about his current condition.

 

 

The burning white light of the sun clawed at his eyes, as though it were reaching into him effortlessly. It didn’t matter that he tilted his head down, watching the ground move beneath his feet as he walked with purpose yet with no destination. The light still burned, reflecting off of every surface except the back of his eyelids. But closing his eyes only brought his focus to the voices echoing between his temples, as though his head was a vast cavern from which he could find no escape. No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring the same clarity to the message he had received before, instead only hearing a cacophony of too many sounds coming from too many directions.

Worse still, images flashed through his mind that he could not ignore. Images of brutal torture and scarring pain that taunted him, reminding him of the chips that had been chiseled from his soul, the pieces scattered just out of reach. He had worked so hard to steel himself against these intrusive emotions, but in a matter of days they had worked themselves back into the frenzy from which he had been desperately trying to escape for years. The brief connection that he had shared with Matoya was like a spark landing on kindling, and the voice of his former master rose with a crescendo, twisting discordantly with the chorus in his head, clouding the message he had received from the light on Mount Ordeals.

All he knew was that he needed to get away. He was all too familiar with the feeling coursing through him, and it caused a swell of pain in his stomach that sent him stumbling towards the nearest building, leaning heavily against it as he shut his eyes tight. His shaking hands gripped the armor around his waist, as though he wanted to tear his body apart. His breathing was deep and quivering, as though he was trying to release the pressure that had built up inside with every exhale. He eventually succeeded in swallowing his emotions as the mental thunderhead began to subside, but not before freeing a few tears upon his cheeks.

“You must not let him get to you.”

Kain’s eyes shot open and he turned quickly toward the familiar voice. Leaning against the wall of the building across the dusty side-street, Erasmus tapped his staff with mild irritation, his face filled with a mix of concern and frustration. Kain blinked hard, as though he was trying to shake off a delusion, but the bearded man in white robes remained, the sun reflecting brightly off his gold-rimmed, half-moon spectacles.

“What?” Kain asked irritably as he straightened up slowly, still keeping a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was in no mood to be toyed with, and he felt drained and weak. “What are you talking about, old man?”

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about, boy!” Erasmus shot back as he pushed himself off the wall, walking boldly towards the azure knight. Kain felt the cold seep into his bones once again, just as it had atop the mountain, as the old sage thrust the staff against his chest. The force barely registered through his armor, but Kain still felt paralyzed, frozen in place. “If you cannot overcome this, then you will fail, and if you fail then this world will cease to exist. Is that simple enough for you?”

Kain didn’t dare to move. He didn’t even speak. He simply stared into the eyes of truth and certainty. There was no use in covering up what was so exposed, and it made him realize that he would have to find some way to deal with his demons sooner rather than later. The challenge was inspiring, but it also left some nagging concern that he would not be able to hide from this anymore. Erasmus seemed to read all of this in the dragon knight’s eyes, and the old man relaxed his posture, letting the butt of his staff rest on the dirt once again. Kain was surprised when the other hand was lifted with an offering of a full flask of whiskey.

“Here…this one’s on me,” the sage spirit spoke with a warmer tone, followed by a sly grin. “It’ll help take your mind off of things.”

Kain took the flask, watched the golden-brown liquid swirl inside the glass for a moment before yanking the cork and taking a generous swig. It had been a useful substance not only for keeping him warm in the frigid climate of Mount Ordeals, but also for dulling the underlying venom that flowed through his veins. The burn was like a purification, the intoxication of alcohol in his blood his only weapon against the parasitic presence that resided there. He closed his eyes as he bit back the urge to cough, releasing his lips from the bottle. When he opened his eyes again, the old man was gone, just a swirl of dust that spun aimlessly down the path.

“Erasmus?” Kain called as he placed the cork in the flask. He received no answer, and he saw no sign of the spirit. He placed the flask in his pouch before realizing that it was the same one he had always had with him. Somehow the old man had pilfered it and refilled it without him knowing. This didn’t concern him nearly as much as realizing that the voices were gone, and his head felt clear. This brought him some comfort, but he started to wonder if Erasmus was somehow connected to the voices, or if he had some ability to control the whispers in his head.

The thought was unsettling, to say the least. Kain took another moment to observe his surroundings, to ensure that Erasmus was not still lurking somewhere nearby. He found no trace of the old man. The faint hint of whiskey on his lips tempted him to reach into his pouch once more, but he brushed the urge aside and began walking. This time he had a destination in mind.

It had been years since Kain last spent any appreciable time with the Elder of Mysidia. When he first came to the village after the war, he was a broken man, feeling as though the Earth was not a place he deserved to walk upon. It didn’t matter that he had helped to save the planet from an unimaginable evil. He had been a part of that evil. He had turned against this world, forsaken it for the hollow promise of insurmountable power and the chance to crush the heart of his envy. After the war he wanted only to bury the past, even if that meant burying his future along with the hatred of what his life had become.

The day that he first set foot in Mysidia, he went to the Elder solely to ask for the details of Cecil’s journey on Mount Ordeals. He had not planned to divulge any information about his own purposes in traveling there, but the Elder was able to see through his façade quickly. The conversation was brief, as Kain was unwilling to admit to the Elder’s assertions that he was desperately seeking something that he could not find alone. They parted on less than good terms, but Kain knew that the Elder was a forgiving man. After all of his struggles these past two years, he realized that the Elder was right all along, and a debt of respect was owed for his wisdom and foresight.

He shook off whatever weakness he had felt before as he made his way into the Mysidian Abbey, walking past mages of black and white that studied him carefully as he passed. He made his way through the sandstone archways, their shadows crawling over his impressive frame before he entered a sunlit courtyard, where a solitary white mage knelt in silent prayer before a statue. Something within him caused him to stop for a moment, just to watch her, the purity of her immaculately clean robes a striking juxtaposition to the ebony obelisk to which she was paying her respect. Upon further observation, Kain noticed that despite the midday sun raining strong upon the black stone, it cast neither reflection nor shadow, as though it was simply absorbing the light. This confounded him, but he could only assume that it was some type of magical illusion.

“It is called libratic aurum,” the Elder’s voice broke the dragon knight’s focus. Kain turned to see the man approaching calmly, two mages at his side. The Elder whispered some instructions to them and they continued making their way out of the Abbey, presumably running some errand for the magister.

“I’m sorry?” Kain responded as the Elder came to stand next to him, turning his gaze to the statue with the mage bowing before it.

“The stone from which that totem was crafted,” the Elder responded, his humble voice neither joyful nor sad. Something was on his mind, but Kain was not ready to inquire. “I assume what distracted you most about it was that it casts no glare in broad daylight. It is no magical parlor trick, I assure you, but rather a property of the stone itself.”

“So then this ore actually absorbs light?” Kain asked.

“Yes,” the Elder responded, letting out a brief smile. “That is the true significance of this monument. The figure itself lost its name and importance long ago, but what it stands for is everlasting. It represents the balance of light and dark.”

“How so? It seems only to exist in perpetual darkness,” Kain queried respectfully.

“Indeed, in the light of day it will remain as black as the deepest crevasse,” the Elder began to explain, watching one of his faithful finally stand from her prayer and shuffle off towards one of the many studies that lined the arched perimeter hallway. The Elder then turned to look at the conflicted man beside him. “But in the darkness of night, the stone will radiate the light that it has collected, and it will appear as white as fresh snow. In this way, we are reminded that no light is ever absolutely free of darkness, just as no darkness is so strong that it cannot be overcome when given enough light. There is a sacred balance that must exist in order for life to persist.”

“That is…interesting,” Kain responded, still observing the statue with curious wonder. He had never heard of such a stone, but then again he rarely entered the Mysidian Abbey, and when he did he had never cared to learn more about it. This seemingly insignificant realization caused his brow to crease involuntarily, and it was a gesture not lost on the Elder of Mysidia.

“I presume that you did not come here to speak of ores and theology?” the Elder pried gently, to which Kain finally turned to face him.

“No…not today,” Kain replied. “I have things that I need to tell you. And I…need your help.”

“I understand,” the Elder nodded before extending his hand towards the heart of the Abbey, where the Tower of Prayers extended into the sky like an earthen hand. “We may speak privately in my quarters, if you wish.”

Kain simply nodded his approval, and the two began the journey down one of the arched hallways in silence. They entered the main foyer through humble, wooden double doors, and Kain took in the smell of incense burning from several altars giving praise to gods he did not believe in, felt the heat of the candles radiating against his cheeks giving him warmth that he felt he didn’t deserve. He didn’t bother looking down the hallways that led to libraries and study chambers for those mages reaching their highest levels of practiced magics. He kept his eyes forward, as they ascended the stairs to the Great Crystal Chamber, pushing against an ornate golden door that gave way to cold reflections from every surface.

His eyes couldn’t help but perform a cursory glance around the chamber, every surface of carved crystal shimmering like a cavern of ice, the crystalline pillars like magnificent icicles piercing the floors. Its layout was nearly identical to the one in the palace of Fabul, the only other crystal chamber he had visited in the upperworld. A memory flashed through his mind: warm light pulsing between his fingers, the heart of a nation beating in his hand, the ice in his veins when he hears her scream. He did well to hide his anxiety, as he kept his pace with the Elder, showing no concern on his face as he strode by the empty podium where the crystal of water had once been perched. He wondered if Cecil still felt something like this whenever he set foot within this chamber.

After passing through another set of gold doors they found themselves at the foot of the spiral staircase leading up to the top of the tower. A wooden door beckoned them off to the side, and the Elder guided the dragon knight into his private study, the door opening on its own as it sensed their presence. Kain’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the dimly lit corridor lined with bookshelves that ended in a small circular room. A table with a candelabra and two chairs awaited them with a haunting warmth.

“Would you care to take a seat?” the Elder asked kindly, gesturing with his hand towards one of the chairs. It pulled itself out from the table on its own.

“I would prefer to stand, actually,” Kain responded, a bit wary of any furniture imbued with magical enchantments.

“As you wish,” the Elder conceded promptly as he took his own seat on the other side of the table. His wise old eyes studied the knight as the dragon helm was removed and tucked under the left arm, the deep blue eyes now clearly visible. In them the Elder saw desperation. “How can I help you?”

“I…” Kain began before realizing that he had not prepared for this in the least. He had not planned any strategy for engaging this conversation, and he immediately felt lost. “I don’t know exactly where to begin.”

“Perhaps we should start with your experiences on Mount Ordeals,” the Elder suggested, watching the man before him carefully for his reaction. “When last we spoke you had mentioned that the Light had reached out to you with guidance. Can you tell me what happened there?”

“Yes, but before I tell you there is something you should know.”

“What is it?” the Elder asked with concerned interest.

Kain took a moment of introspective silence as he weighed the truth that he wasn’t sure he should release. Tensions between the Mysidians and the apostates dredging up the Magi tenets were clearly something of concern after the altercation in the forest, but Kain was not here to swirl up a political and philosophical maelstrom. His concerns over Erasmus and his intentions were what propelled him into this meeting, and he wanted answers from the only person he thought could provide them.

“I spoke with one of the Magi on the mountain,” Kain confessed, not confident in the least that he could foresee where this might lead the conversation. The Elder’s widening eyes gave Kain a few clues.

“You…you spoke with one of the Magi?” the Elder barely passed the question through his bumbling lips. “Are you sure? The Magi have been extinct from this world for 500 years.”

“Do you remember the story you told me in the forest?” Kain gave the Elder a hint. “The one about the Magi who burned at that pillar?”

“Erasmus the Wise…he succeeded?” the Elder whispered, now leaning over the table on his elbows, his fingers intertwined. He was intent on absorbing all that Kain would tell him. “Please tell me what he said to you.”

“He…helped me see that my isolation on Mount Ordeals was no longer necessary…that I was needed here to help Cecil prepare to fight a new enemy, one that threatens the world once more,” Kain explained. “At first I wanted to trust him, to believe in him, but now…he has come to me twice since then, and each time it is as though he was reaching into my mind and…” Kain stopped as he shook his head, placing his hand upon his temple. “It makes me wonder if I am truly thinking for myself.”

“That is understandable, considering your experiences during the war,” said the Elder.

“Do you think he is manipulating me?” Kain asked, staring intensely across the small room at the magister’s weathered face.

“That you are standing before me, able to ask that question is reason enough for me to suspect that is not the case,” the Elder answered considerately. Kain’s eyes softened a bit upon hearing the words. The dragon knight still did not seem fully convinced.

“You’ll understand if I remain skeptical,” said Kain. “I do not always feel as though I have fully regained control of my mind from Golbez, even now. I still…hear him…feel him.”

“You hear his voice still to this day?” asked the Elder.

“Yes, and I worry that Erasmus may find some way to…” Kain couldn’t even finish the thought, it repulsed and angered him to the point that he closed his eyes to push the swell of emotion back down.

“If you are asking whether or not he uses the same dark magic to which you were once exposed, then I am inclined to say no,” the Elder responded. Kain opened his eyes again, brightened slightly by the words. “Our records do not indicate that mind control magic was ever discovered by any Magi. It is considered one of the forbidden magics, along with Meteo, Ultima, and Trine, and as such it is incredibly rare for any mage to obtain it, much less possess the magical will to properly cast it. Historically, the secrets of these spells have only been obtained by blessings from the Light in times of need, and until the war they had not been unsealed for a thousand years. Golbez only possessed that power due to his Lunarian blood, which the Magi do not share.”

“That is more convincing,” Kain responded, feeling the tension in his jaw relax as his anxiety cooled down.

“But if what you tell me is true, then Erasmus has immortalized himself as a spirit being,” the Elder continued carefully, not wanting to give Kain much more to worry about. “This would give him ample time to access the shrine and subsequently learn the secrets of these spells.”

“He may have succeeded in becoming immortal, but he did not succeed in entering the shrine,” Kain replied confidently, to which the Elder looked both shocked and somewhat pleased.

“So the Light denied him?” the Elder whispered as he leaned against the back of his chair, stroking his beard with reserved delight. “He told you this?”

“Yes,” Kain replied stoically, folding his arms across his chest, not wishing to show favor to any one religious philosophy.

“That is interesting,” the Elder said as the candles flickered. “If that is true, then I do not believe he can manipulate you the same way that Golbez did, but that does not mean he is not still trying to manipulate you in other ways. You mentioned that he convinced you to seek Cecil’s aid in addressing a new threat to the world. What exactly did he say to you?”

“He did not provide specifics,” Kain replied. “He said that I would find out on my own in time, but he has convinced me that if I fail to fight this new enemy that the Earth will cease to exist.”

“Thus far, you have only convinced me that he is trying to help you,” the Elder commented. “So then why do you want to believe otherwise?”

“I…” Kain began, his eyes diverted to his blue reflection in his armored arm. “Because I am…afraid, Elder. I fear that I…am unable to…”

“I understand, Kain. It is not easy living with what you have gone through,” the Elder interrupted, seeing the pain it caused the damaged man before him. “But trust that your experiences do not weaken you, but have hardened you against that fate.”

Kain looked up to meet the Elder’s compassionate eyes, and he found truth and warmth in them. It was a small gesture of words, but its effect surprised him in making him feel that his mind was sound. Kain gave his thanks with a respectful nod. The Elder took that as a sign to move on.

 “I should tell you that I have also had visions of a possible future that haunts me, of a world overwhelmed with blight and decay,” the Elder continued, hoping that he could convince the dragon knight of his righteous quest. “It may be that our interests in preventing this future are aligned for the time being. If Erasmus wished the world to fall then I see no reason why he would bother to help you.”

“So you believe I can trust him?”

“I would advise you to maintain your natural skepticism,” the Elder replied with a slight grin. “It has served you well, thus far. If you learn anything more from him, please do not hesitate to come see me. Knowing that a spirit of the Magi roams freely brings clarity to many things that have happened since the end of the war. I thank you for being so forthcoming.”

Kain simply nodded, still standing with his arms folded as he leaned against the bookshelf.

“And what of the guidance you received from the Light?” the Elder asked. Kain seemed to relax a little, letting his arms fall to his sides, still holding tight to his helmet as though he may wish to escape at a moment’s notice. His eyes stared at the orange glow of the stone floor as he thought of how to explain the voice that first spoke to him on Mount Ordeals.

“It…it started as whispers…incoherent mutterings,” Kain began, staring intently at the candlelight pulsing on the sandstone tiles. “For two years I heard nothing, and then the voices suddenly arose a few weeks ago during my meditations. As many times as had I travelled to that shrine at the summit…” Kain shook his head slightly before turning his eyes toward one of the bookshelves at his side. “I thought I had finally lost my mind.”

“These whispers,” the Elder began, keeping his tone even and without judgement. “You believe them to be born from the Light on the mountain?”

“At first, yes…but I had also considered the possibility that Erasmus…” Kain stopped himself from retreading that subject. He turned his gaze to the Elder. The aging magister was reading anything he could from the lines in Kain’s face. “Regardless, some part of me knows the words to be true, and I feel that this message is of great importance.”

“So the whispers eventually became clear? What message did they deliver?” the Elder’s eyes widened slightly with contained excitement.

“When I finally understood the message, I realized it was a chant repeated over and over,” Kain explained. “It said: An ancient evil awakens, the dark heart shall shepherd the light.”

The Elder’s face noticeably changed from excitement to a pensive stare that penetrated Kain’s hardened eyes. It was the same look that Kain had noticed in him before, a strange undertone of woe that could not be hidden by skin or beard. These words had apparently struck the chord of his concern, yet he was still not prepared for the Elder’s next words.

“Is that all that the voice said to you?” the Elder asked firmly.

“I’m sorry?” Kain replied reflexively.

“Kain, you come to me asking for my help,” the Elder said as he stood from his chair, bent over the flames of the candelabra, his arms propping him up on the table as he leaned towards the dragon knight. His face had hardened considerably. “I cannot help you if you are not completely honest with me.”

Kain began to feel uncomfortable, as the Elder clearly saw through him. The voice had indeed told him more, but Kain had not wished to divulge that with anyone, not even Cecil. This moment of truth filled his chest with anxious thumps of his heartbeat, as he shifted nervously against the bookshelf behind him. A book slid across the wood against the weight of his touch, the scratch of the parchment normally drowned out by the quietest of ambience was a reverberant hiss to his ear.

“What you have just told me is part of an age-old prophecy,” the Elder broke the thick silence, revealing his reason for pressing this issue. “A prophecy espoused by the Magi. Based on what I know, I cannot believe you would be moved to act on those words alone. Were you or were you not given the prophecy in its entirety?”

“Yes,” Kain answered hesitantly, feeling cornered with the pressure of interrogation coming from across the room. At the same time, the fact that these words were somehow linked to Erasmus and the Magi was disturbing, and he suddenly felt the urge to sit down.

With a deep breath of release he calmly made his way to the table where the Elder still stood watching and laid his helmet upon the table, the candlelight reflecting off the steel in an azure aura. As he took the seat the Elder had originally pulled for him, his shadow grew long against the wall where he once stood before shrinking and vanishing into the floor. The Elder remained silent and contemplative as he eyed the stonewalled man now sitting before him, waiting for answers.

“You’re right…I came to you for help,” Kain admitted, a gesture of his willingness to get everything out in the open. “Allow me to give you the whole truth.”

“Forgive me if I came across as demanding,” the Elder assured the dragon knight as he reclaimed his seat, looking worried and weary. “But what you heard on that mountain…if it was truly the Light that delivered this message to you…the ripples it might send throughout the commune could do irreparable harm to the faith of my people.”

“I understand,” Kain responded, quickly gleaning that the balance of faiths between Mysidians and the resurgent Magi belief system held by the apostates had become a deeply rooted issue since the end of the war.

“Can we both agree that whatever is said within the confines of this room shall never leave it?” asked the Elder. He was solemn but stern with his words, and his worn face looked as though it was preparing to carry a heavy burden.

“Agreed.”

“Now please continue,” the Elder urged. “Can you recite the prophecy?”

Kain closed his eyes and let the words come back to him, let them ring in his mind until their melody played without thinking. When he was ready to speak, he opened his eyes to the light of the room and delivered the message.

_Once Mother Earth finds stillness at last_

_Ancient evil awakens from aeons past_

_Three shall rise in order and caste_

_One whose conviction burns pure and devout_

_One whose heart is clouded with doubt_

_One whose blood carries evil throughout_

_Ere the dark heart shall shepherd the light_

_A bond of blood must seal their plight_

_Ere the hallowed dragon shall ever return_

_A price of reason that all must learn_

_Ere Mother Earth is granted bounty and mercy_

_A sacrifice must be made by one of three_

When Kain finished reciting the prophecy, he noticed the Elder seemed somewhat perplexed, as though the words he spoke were not exactly what he was expecting. There was a confusing silence that filled the room until Kain finally spoke up.

“You seem incredulous.”

“Forgive me,” the Elder seemed to come to after a moment of deep thought. “It’s just that the words you have spoken are not quite identical to the Magi prophecy.”

“Not _quite_ identical?” asked Kain with eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, that is what is so strange,” the Elder said as he stood suddenly to turn and grab a book from the shelf behind him. The smooth leather slid gently from the grasp of its neighbors as the Elder held it reverently, studying the cover for a moment before returning to his seat. He turned the pages swiftly, the smell of parchment wafting up into the air. He stopped when he found what he was looking for. “Yes, you will see here in the recorded history from the last decade of Magi rule that this prophecy was heralded much like the Mysidian Legend during the war. Except this prophecy never came to fruition.”

The Elder slid the book across the table to the dragon knight waiting patiently on the other side. Kain carefully grabbed the binding, worried that he might desecrate some invaluable artifact of a dead culture. He scanned the words quickly, seeing that the words were strikingly similar to the ones he had just spoken, but were different in a few keys places. The differences were enough to change the message almost entirely.

_Once Mother Earth finds stillness at last_

_Ancient evil awakens from aeons past_

_Ye shall rise in order and caste_

_One whose conviction burns pure and devout_

_None whose heart is clouded with doubt_

_None whose blood carries evil throughout_

_Ere the dark heart shall shepherd the light_

_A bond of blood must seal their plight_

_Ere the Hallowed One shall ever return_

_A price of treason that all must learn_

_Ere Mother Earth is granted bounty and mercy_

_A sacrifice must be made by one of thee_

“What does this mean?” Kain asked, looking up from the book with a hint of surprise.

“I cannot be sure, but perhaps the Magi misinterpreted the prophecy, or worse perverted it to suit their tyrannical agenda,” the Elder responded with a hint of disdain. “I am hopeful that this means the voice you heard was the true message delivered by the Light of the mountain.”

“It mentions the Hallowed One, much like the apostates we encountered in the forest,” Kain noted, watching the Elder’s sorrowed eyes as the memory replayed. “You made it seem as though they were trying to resurrect Erasmus, but this would suggest something else entirely.”

“You are right to be dubious, for I have not given you the whole truth,” the Elder said with remorse. He gestured for Kain to turn the page in the book before him. The Elder watched as Kain’s eyes widened considerably at the image on the following page, the uncanny resemblance to the one man he feared more than any other. “That is the Hallowed One the apostates wished to resurrect. While you may believe that is a likeness of Golbez, I assure you it is not, but rather of his father. Cecil’s father.”

“They want to resurrect Cecil’s father?” Kain asked, clearly confused. “Why?”

“It is said that the Magi rose to power after a visit from a strange wizard from a foreign land,” the Elder explained. “This man gave them the gifts of great magical powers beyond anything they had seen, and greatly advanced their civilization in a matter of years. He then vanished, ascending to the heavens, leaving behind his prophecies. After learning of Cecil’s father and his involvement in the evolution of our people, I can only surmise that KluYa is the Hallowed One from the Magi prophecy.”

“Which, over the course of centuries, has undoubtedly been rewritten by the rich and powerful to subjugate the meek,” Kain added, allowing his own disdain for political inequality to break through the surface.

“It would seem so,” the Elder replied, a slight smile evident in his beard as he glimpsed a bit of Kain’s true integrity. “But before Golbez rose to power in Baron, it was said that he descended from Mount Ordeals as though he was born from the mountain itself, gathering followers as he did so. With his resemblance to the Hallowed One, this rekindled the interest in the Magi prophecy, which has led to more and more apostates leaving Mysidia to seek ways of bringing him back after the war.”

“Why would they ever want to bring _him_ back?” Kain let his simmering hatred spill over for a moment. “He nearly destroyed this world!”

“That is not the way the apostates see it,” the Elder responded calmly, trying to keep the tone of the conversation level. “If you’ll remember, I told you that the Magi believed in a land of eternal bliss known as Aevum. They believe that Golbez was trying to usher in this new world. Perhaps they believe that the death of all who opposed him was simply the price of treason that all must learn.”

“How _anyone_ could believe—” Kain stopped himself short as he realized the sickening irony of what he was about to say. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his temper with a deep, relaxing breath. He opened his eyes and continued in his normal, reserved manner. “Perhaps we should speak more of this another time.”

“As you wish,” the Elder replied with a firm glare. “But know that if you continue to disengage from conversations that reveal your feelings you will never truly be free of your burden.”

Kain thought on this for a moment, letting his gaze wander down to the grain of the wooden table. He noticed the smallest shadow crawling across it in the candlelight, an insect carrying a splinter to its home, nestled within one of the knots in the plank. He wondered if, given enough time, this small presence could dismantle the table entirely.

“We all must live with things inside of us that we wish we could forget,” the Elder spoke with genuine empathy. “You know that forgetting what you have done is impossible. But forgiving what you have done is within reason, and forgiveness is only found by opening yourself to those that recognize the pain you have suffered from living with the weight of your past.”

“I should go,” Kain said curtly as he stood from his seat. He grabbed his helmet swiftly before turning for the door.

“Do you drink to silence him?” the Elder called out, to which Kain stopped dead in his tracks, his free hand pressed against the bookshelf as he leaned into it, his head sagging. The Elder heard a sigh coming from the fragile man across the room. “Do not take me for a fool, I have noticed this habit since the day you arrived here two years ago. I can smell it on your breath now. It is a temporary solution, at best. Forgiveness is the only true path to redemption.”

“You believe that simple forgiveness will make him go away?” Kain growled, still keeping his back to the Elder.

“I did not say that,” the Elder shot back. “I do not believe he will ever go away.”

“Then what’s the point?!” Kain roared as he swiveled around with a furious glare. The light of the flames were alive in his eyes.

“You must accept it, Kain!” the Elder shouted back as he stood from his seat, feeling the heat of the conversation rising with the smoke of the candles. “You must accept that Golbez will _always_ be a part of you, that his curse will follow you wherever you go. It is what you choose to do about it that matters most!”

“Well I _have_ chosen, Elder,” Kain replied coldly. “I know _exactly_ what I must do.”

“Then you have failed,” the Elder responded. The words caught Kain off guard.

“What? How—”

“You have made this decision alone, and that is why you will fail,” the Elder cut him off, standing firm. “I know why you did not wish to tell me the prophecy in its entirety. It is the same reason you have not told Cecil. You’re afraid that we might try to stop you.”

“Cecil knows all that he needs to know, for now,” Kain deflected. “I have already asked to serve as his protector, and he has granted me that honor.”

“Under what conditions, Kain?” asked the Elder, his tone unyielding. “You cannot expect Cecil to willingly allow you the chance to throw your life away without fully understanding your motives. A noble sacrifice is only as noble as the conscience of the martyr. Is your conscience clear?”

Kain seemed petrified, his breath caught in his throat. Once again, the Elder had easily seen through him, and without words his confession was laid bare before them. They stared at each other for a long moment as the whispers of candlelight echoed through the settling dust. The Elder eventually relaxed his stance, slumping down in his chair in defeat.

“Go if you must,” the Elder said as he raised his hand, the door opening with the gentle force of his magic. “I have other matters to attend to. Unless you are willing to accept my help, I will not waste valuable time trying to offer it. You may return to me at any time when you feel you are ready.”

“I’m sorry, Elder. I have made up my mind.”

“Do not apologize to me,” the Elder responded as he reached for the book to flip back to the page with the Magi prophecy. He didn’t even look at the dragon knight as he spoke, tracing his fingers along lines of text. “It is Cecil who will feel the greatest sting from your decision. If you do not tell him what you plan to do, then trust that I will.”

With that, Kain simply shut himself off from the conversation, placing his helmet on his head before turning and walking out the door. The Elder continued to read the prophecy, taking a feather quill and parchment from a drawer to write down the version that Kain had recited for him. When he had finished, his eyes hovered over the sacred lines of text, and a pang of grief shuddered over him as he thought of what this meant to the man he had just let walk away.

 

 

 


	18. Cecil's Conviction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil confronts his mother about his recent dreams.

 

 

The atmosphere was warm and jovial, as mother and son, uncle and niece spoke of life and the wonder of a new family bond they had discovered in each other. It was difficult not to wear a smile knowing what they all now knew, and they each felt blessed to have this moment, however fleeting it would be. The sunlight pouring through the curtain doorway could not match their radiance, as they seemed to glow with every word, every laugh, and every bit of family history they could share with what little time they had.

Rydia was most amazed with her grandmother’s wisdom, how she had come to share KluYa’s dream of a peaceful coexistence between human and Lunarian, and how the founding of Mist would serve as the living proof of that possibility. The green-haired summoner was in awe as she absorbed the knowledge of Mist’s intrepid vision and its humble beginnings in the valley. It made her long to reconnect with that place, the village she knew for a mere six years before it vanished in smoke and cinder.

She was even more excited to learn of her father and his life as a boy growing up in the village.  Apparently, he had an affinity for chocobos and was quite adept at catching them, although he had also reaped the scorn of the colony on more than one occasion for causing a stampede or two. His magical abilities were well beyond anyone else his age, and when he wasn’t causing a feather-flying ruckus he was practicing his craft to one day be as great as his big brother, HaMut. Matoya described him as a free spirit, a soul with an overabundance of independence, which was why she did not hesitate to leave him under the care of the villagers when she departed Mist for the last time.

Cecil watched with a reverent smile as his niece soaked in the story of her father’s life, for he had experienced these very same feelings over the last two weeks. It was incredibly satisfying to have this connection with family, a soothing touch to the tender longing he had been feeling for some time.  It was like watching a seamstress mend a hole in an age-old quilt, one whose fibers had worn over generations, gathering stains and scars, yet still providing the same warmth and comfort for which it was made.

It would have been a perfect moment, if only Cecil did not still have the nagging thoughts of his last dream whispering in the corner of his mind, reminding him that they were there. He felt a bit stuck at this point, for he couldn’t simply interrupt the reunion with Rydia to suddenly bring up the matter, yet at the same time he didn’t know when he may get another chance to speak about it with his mother. Maybe never.

He quickly brushed that last thought from his mind, maintaining his pleasant façade so as not to alarm anyone, although he caught his mother giving him a glance as she spoke to Rydia. It sent an uncontrollable tingle through his body, his heart jumping as though he had been caught in a moment of weakness. But her eyes were quickly back to her enthralled granddaughter, as though nothing had transpired. Cecil hid it well, but he was tense as the stress of the conversation that needed to be had began to swell.

“Lady Ambassador,” a voice broke in from the doorway, and all eyes turned to the mage that stood respectfully outside the hut.

“You may enter,” Cecil called as he stood from his mother’s bedside to greet him. The mage entered and bowed respectfully before the Paladin King before turning his attention to Rydia. She stood as he hesitantly approached her.

“I am so sorry to interrupt, but your presence is needed in the archives,” the mage began, bowing humbly before the summoner, clearly seeking forgiveness for his intrusion.

“Can it not wait?” Cecil asked, somewhat harshly. “Our time with my mother is limited.”

“I understand, Sir Cecil, and please forgive me,” the mage replied with humility. Clearly he had drawn the short straw for this particular errand. “I would not insist if it were not urgent. Something has happened with the bolt that you brought to us, Lady Ambassador. The rune inscribed upon it has…disappeared.”

“What?” Rydia asked with surprise. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, but the Elder and his historians are concerned that whatever spell it harbored may have taken effect,” the mage responded with urgency. “We did not have enough time to study it before it was gone, and I’m afraid we need you to help us identify the rune from our records.”

“I suppose I could assist you, but I…” Rydia offered before she turned to her grandmother, still smiling with genuine affection on the quilted cot. She didn’t want to leave her after just discovering this family connection. Matoya seemed to sense this conflict in her granddaughter, as she reached out a hand to her.

“My dear Rydia, our time has been a blessing,” she spoke so warmly that it was hard not to sit by her side once again. Rydia took the gentle hand extended for her. “Trust that we will speak again one day. I have matters to discuss with SeSol before I lapse once again, for I do not know how long the next one shall last. Please do not neglect those duties that require your attention on my behalf.”

“Thank you, grandmother,” Rydia said with a smile as she clasped her hands around Matoya’s. “I have enjoyed getting to know you, and I look forward to speaking with you again someday. May I…may I hug you?”

“Yes, of course, child,” Matoya responded with a chuckle as she welcomed her with open arms. Rydia gently leaned in and took in the warmth of her embrace, a feeling of incredible joy sweeping over her skin. As Rydia stood once more, her face full of innocence and radiance, the familial bond seemed to crystallize before them, a sense of unshakeable connectedness.

They said their goodbyes before the mage finally escorted her out of the hut, leaving Cecil and Matoya to spend some time alone. Unfortunately for Cecil, his nerves were beginning to get the better of him, as the moment of truth had been abruptly forced upon him. Matoya seemed to sense something was amiss.

“Is everything alright, SeSol?” Matoya called to her brooding son, who seemed lost in thought as he continued to glance out the doorway, even though Rydia and the mage had disappeared from view. Cecil turned, almost startled, and tried to quickly stretch a smile across his lips.

“Yes, of course,” he began, though he could tell by the concerned look on his mother’s face that she had intuited his mental quarrel.

“Please, SeSol, you needn’t hide your feelings from me,” Matoya offered kindly, her hand beckoning him towards the seat at her bedside. “Please, sit. Tell me what is on your mind.”

“You’re right, mother, I’m sorry,” Cecil conceded with a sigh as he took his seat at her side, but he still felt the nerves tightening throughout his body. He rubbed his knees anxiously as he spoke. “I have been having dreams. Dreams of my past.”

“Ah, so the crystal is beginning to reconnect with your spirit, your EiSanKi,” Matoya surmised as she eyed the subdued glow of the pendant pulsing beneath his tunic.  She smiled as her gaze returned to the deep blue of the worried eyes before her. “This is completely normal, SeSol, do not worry. You will continue to have these dreams until it has fully rebuilt the memories that it lost since I hid the crystal from you as a child.”

“Having the dreams does not bother me,” Cecil replied, losing his confidence as he stared down at the bed. “It is wonderful getting to see what my life was like back then, seeing things I could never remember. It brings me comfort and satisfaction to know where I came from.”

“And yet, you do not seem comforted at this moment.” Matoya reached her hand out to rest upon Cecil’s, causing him to stop his nervous fidgeting, his eyes finally coming back to hers. “What have your dreams shown you thus far, SeSol?”

Cecil closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath as he prepared himself for the conversation that was about to unfold. He didn’t want to cause his mother any strife with her present condition, but at the same time he wouldn’t be able to rest with the weight of this on his chest. He opened his eyes with a refreshing exhale and began.

“I have had two dreams, both when I was but a baby, no more than a year old,” Cecil began, his mother listening intently. “The first memory was the day you left Mist…after Father had died. I sat beside you and watched your conversation with FeRos…it broke my heart to see the two of you in so much pain.”

“And it breaks mine that you had to bear witness to that moment. It must have left a strong impression on your young mind if it was the first memory that came to you,” said Matoya caringly. “Is that what has you so distraught?”

“No…it was what I saw in the following dream,” Cecil continued, his face falling slightly deeper into sadness. “You were in the forests near Baron…the morning before you arrived at the castle. I learned why you gave me to King Odin…why I…was never to see you again until now.”

“SeSol, I know it is hard to understand, but you must believe that it was for your safety,” Matoya pleaded. “I would not have been able to keep you from the hands of evil had ZeMus and HaMut ever found me, and I feared Mist would not be safe for you, either. It was best that you knew nothing of who you were, so that you would have no inclination to return and risk following the fate of your brother.”

“I understand that, mother, I truly do…I believe you had only the best intentions in trying to protect me,” Cecil assured her, though his face did not brighten, for he was about to dive into the crux of his feelings. “It was what you said to me in the forest that morning that concerns me.”

Matoya seemed puzzled. “I’m afraid you will need to remind me.”

“When last we spoke, you told me that I was not meant to be this planet’s protector, that I was supposed to live a normal, peaceful life,” Cecil began, still a slight hesitation in his voice. “But in the forest, you admitted that Father had a plan for me…that I was the last hope for humankind…that I would have to make great sacrifices to ensure the safety of this world.”

Matoya’s eyes widened, and Cecil noticed they began to glisten in the corners as her own emotions surprised her in an upwelling of dread and sadness. He could tell that she had not intended for him to ever know this, a secret she was prepared to take to the grave, yet here it was laid bare before them. Nothing was said for a moment as the revelation sunk in, but Cecil became quite uncomfortable in the silence, and unable to restrain it any longer, words simply spilled out of him.

“I have been going over that moment again and again, trying to make sense of why you would continue to lie to me about this after all these years,” Cecil rambled. “I’ve wondered what purpose this would serve now, when the war is over and ZeMus has been defeated, by _my_ hand, no less. It makes sense now that I was, indeed, destined for this life. So why continue the charade? I have been struggling with my convictions these last few weeks, and after our last conversation I finally felt free of the chains of fate and prophecy. But now…now I feel lost once more…I…”

“SeSol, please,” Matoya begged with quivering lips, tears now running down her cheeks. Cecil stopped his frantic diatribe, only to feel shame for the verbal wounds he had inflicted. “Please know that it was never my intention to lie to you. It became a necessary sin for your own protection.”

“But why lie to me now?” Cecil interrupted. “After all has been said and done?”

“Because you should never feel as though you are bound to the will of anyone other than yourself,” Matoya answered firmly, gathering her strength and halting the flow of tears. “What I told you before was true, you were never originally intended to be the one to protect this world from ZeMus. Only when it became clear that HaMut would fall into darkness did KluYa choose you to take his place. But before all of that, when you were first born, your father promised me that you would never have to live with the burden of saving this world. It was the only reason I agreed to even have another child after he revealed to me what would become of FeRos.”

“What…?” Cecil’s eyes widened with curiosity. “What was to become of FeRos?”

“When he was born, your father sensed a spirit in him that only occurs in an exceedingly small number of Lunarians,” Matoya explained, feeling a bit calmer now that all of this was finally getting out in the open. “The spirit of a legendary EiDoLon, one that can bring those that have perished back from the dead. It was why he was given the name Phoenix, Rising to the Light.”

“Yes, the legends of the Phoenix are still recited to this day,” Cecil added. “It is said that is where Phoenix Down potions get their name.”

“That is true, but the potions can only revive those on the brink of death, only while their spirit still resides in their body. Once the soul leaves the body, no potion or spell will reanimate them, unless one resorts to necromancy. But even then it is just a shell without a soul, it is not the same person it was before,” Matoya corrected. “The EiDoLon Phoenix, however, can reunite the spirit to its body, bringing even those long dead back to this world as though they had never passed.”

“That is truly incredible,” said Cecil with wonder. “But this does not sound like a reason to fear for him.”

“While it sounds like a blessing, I assure you it is a curse,” Matoya responded fretfully. “What you must know about this EiDoLon is that it has a countermeasure to prevent abuse of its power. When one summons the Phoenix, they must give up their own life in return. Your father decided that if HaMut ever died before he could defend the planet that FeRos would…sacrifice himself to bring him back.”

“I see,” Cecil whispered, saddened by the understanding of what his mother had to bear in knowing that her own children had their fates sealed before they were even born. “I can’t imagine how difficult that would be to accept.”

“For a long time I could not accept it,” Matoya admitted, her voice noticeably weakened. “Your father and I…we did not speak for years after FeRos was born. When he told me what FeRos would have to do, I instinctively fought back. He left after many bitter disputes, when I finally told him not to return unless he changed his mind about FeRos’s purpose. He and HaMut spent all of their time training in the deserts of Kaipo during that long absence, and I was left to raise our sacrificial son alone. The village provided me with overwhelming support, and they became an important part of our family. Without them, I don’t know that I would have been able to hold on to my sanity.”

“I’m so sorry, mother, I had no idea,” Cecil said, feeling even worse for making such a big deal out of his mother’s deceit, which now seemed so insignificant.

“I know, and I do not wish to burden you with all of this, but you need to know why I lied to you,” Matoya continued, remaining strong in the face of this uncomfortable conversation. Cecil found that admiration he had felt for her when she faced King Odin in his dream. “When your father did return, he conceded that he understood my fervor, and apologized for his stubbornness. But he also said that he could not forego FeRos’s destiny. He offered to have another child, one that would be free of any overwhelming purpose. At first I was furious. I found such a consolation offering offensive, for it flew in the face of my previous concerns about the well-being of our children. He and HaMut spent a few years in the village as a show of good will, trying to rebuild our relationship, and in time KluYa and I found love in each other once more. You were the result of a renewed promise of love and hope for our future.”

“But when ZeMus corrupted HaMut’s mind…” Cecil began to put to the pieces together, at which point Matoya’s steeled exterior began to weaken, and he realized what his father must have asked of her, what the finality of his death signified.

“I know he never intended for it to happen,” Matoya started with his defense as she wiped a rogue tear from her cheek. “But I traveled to see him before he died, when he realized what was happening to HaMut. That is when he told me that you would have to take your brother’s place. He…broke his promise to me…to you…”

With those words she could not hold back her sadness any longer, and she wept openly into her hands, overwhelmed with heartache. Cecil wrapped his loving arms around her, consoling her as best as he could. Her head landed in the crook of his neck as she continued to sob uncontrollably, as all of her pent up emotions poured out of her. Cecil was also filled with woe, but he took it upon himself to be her rock, her solid ground, for he realized that is what he had always been for her.

“SeSol…SeSol promise me something…” Matoya let out as her tears finally began to subside, her head still nestled on his shoulder, her quivering breaths grazing his neck. Cecil put a hand on her head, stroking her hair lovingly.

“Anything,” Cecil answered softly.

“Promise me that you will always do what you feel is right. Not because someone tells you to do it, or because you feel helplessly destined for it,” Matoya sadly pleaded. “You became who you are of your own free will, SeSol, and do not let anyone tell you otherwise. Promise me that you will…live your life…your life…your…”

“I…” Cecil began before his mother suddenly went limp in his arms. She had lapsed once more, but Cecil couldn’t bear to take his arms from around her. He wanted to somehow pour his life into her, to give her more time with him. He wanted her to know that he would keep his promise to her, that he would never break his word, would never break his bond with her. But it was useless, no matter how tightly he held her she would not rouse. He eventually laid her down softly upon the bed, tucked her in as she remained in a peaceful state of slumber. She was still breathing, her crystal still pulsing with a soft glow. It was enough to give him hope that he might still have another chance to speak with her before she was lost forever. He leaned in to leave a kiss upon her forehead before he whispered his last words.

“I promise.”


	19. Rydia's Concession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rydia speaks with the historians in Mysidia which reveals some key details of the mystery behind the attempt on her life.

 

 

The archives were located in an isolated room off of the main library at the west end of the Mysidian Abbey, a subtle but grand wealth of historical knowledge of the world contained within its volumes. The circular room was barely wide enough to fit a dozen people, and was indeed intended for small audiences as the table in the center of the room only had four chairs around it. Only the Elder and his two historians had the keys to this room, and Rydia was one of only a few outsiders who had ever set foot within these walls. What was so mesmerizing about the room was what allowed it to store such a vast number of historical and magical texts. Though the roof of the building was not far above them, the ceiling seemed to stretch into an infinite darkness. The only light came from sconces attached to the bookshelves covering the walls, reaching up into the endlessness above them, where even their light was lost at its unimaginable heights.

“A simple space extension enchantment,” said one of the historians as she was led in by the mage who had fetched her from Matoya’s hut. He apparently had noticed Rydia’s amazement, for her eyes were almost as wide as her mouth, which hung open in utter disbelief. “Really nothing to be so awestruck about, especially considering the things I’m sure you have seen in your life, Lady Ambassador.”

“Please, Lukhan, you can be so rude sometimes,” the other historian chastised before she approached Rydia with a warm smile. The female historian was surprisingly younger than Rydia might have expected, perhaps only ten years her senior. Her chestnut eyes twinkled in the torchlight as it graced her pale, friendly face. Her auburn hair was braided and wrapped in a tight bun behind her head, and her tan-linen robes accentuated her humble appearance. “We are so blessed to have you in our company, Lady Ambassador, and thank you for taking the time to assist us.”

“It is nothing at all, and please call me Rydia,” the green-haired summoner insisted, giving a brief curtsey before the historians.

“And so modest, how refreshing,” the female historian said before she nodded towards Lukhan, winking at Rydia with a sly smile. “You have no idea how much fun it is being cooped up every day with the second largest ego in Mysidia.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lukhan piped up as he approached them. His features came into view as he drew near, his black hair contrasting sharply to his pale skin and amber eyes, but matching quite well with his charcoal-colored robes. “And may I ask _who_ has an ego bigger than _mine_?”

“Palom, of course,” she answered with a laugh.

“Well, it is tough to argue with that,” Lukhan admitted. “Anyway, please come sit, before Aeris bores you to death with any more of her blather.”

“If you can ignore his incessantly aggravating mannerisms, he really is a decent fellow, I assure you,” Aeris whispered to Rydia with a sigh. They shared a humorous smile as they both took a seat at the table. Rydia noticed that the woman was staring at her, or rather at her chest. Aeris quickly caught herself before making things uncomfortable. “Pardon my interest, Lady Rydia, but I couldn’t help notice the lovely pendant on your necklace. It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, thank you,” Rydia flushed slightly with a shy grin, forgetting the chain that held her father’s spirit crystal was even there.  She pulled the crystal from her smooth skin with her delicate fingers, holding it up for them to see, its faint red glow appearing like a haze within the confines of the facet edges. “This belonged to my father who passed away many years ago, though I only just received it from my grandmother today. She had kept it safely tucked away, and although I can’t possibly imagine she could have foreseen our reunion, she still made me feel as though I was meant to have it. It’s all I have left of him.”

“That is so sweet, what a wonderful family heirloom,” Aeris complimented. Rydia smiled at the words, as it made her realize even more than she had a new connection to her family. It warmed her heart just thinking of all she had gained in her brief time here in Mysidia: an invaluable piece of her past, and a new family to take with her into the future.

“Well then,” Lukhan said as he cleared his throat. “Shall we get down to business?”

“Leave it to the sourpuss to ruin a tender moment,” Aeris came back, although her tone was more jesting than scornful. Rydia sensed that despite their squabbling they were truly good friends. Nonetheless, the ladies relented, taking a more serious posture at the table as they prepared to dive into the mystery of the disappearing sigil.

“I was told that the rune faded from the bolt, and that it may have activated some kind of spell,” Rydia began with what the mage had told her, the one she now noticed had quietly slipped out at some point during Lukhan and Aeris’s bickering without a word. He had probably learned to make his escape from them many times by now.

“Yes, it was really quite poor timing,” Lukhan replied. “There was clearly a glowing rune on the bolt when the Elder first brought it to us, but before we had a chance to trace it, or even study it, it had disappeared from the face of the steel.”

“We still have the drawing that Sir Cecil provided us, but it lacks the sigil in the center and the outer ring that encircles it,” Aeries added, concerned over the meaning as well. “We have some theories as to what those symbols could mean, but it is the sigil that we are most concerned about. That is what will tell us what kind of magic we are dealing with.”

“Getting straight to the point, we need you to endure the inanely arduous task of looking through these texts until you see a sigil that you recognize,” Lukhan finished the thought with such brazen honesty that Rydia almost let out a laugh, but she was intent on providing help any way that she could, even it meant spending hours poring over texts of ancient magics.

“I see you already have several selections here,” Rydia gathered with a cursory glance at the two small stacks of books waiting patiently on the table. The bolt and Cecil’s sketch lay next to them. “Can you tell me what you have learned thus far? You mentioned you have theories on the symbols surrounding the sigil?”

“I should begin with the most obvious,” said Lukhan. “The inscribed ring around the rune is a common enchantment trigger, something that any item inscribed with such magic must include to effectively activate the intended spell. A basic enchantment trigger simply requires that the rune be touched, either by a physical or magical force. But they can also be much, much more specific, down to a single spell, or even a variant thereof. My guess, seeing as this was attached to a crossbow bolt, would be that the trigger for this enchantment was some type of healing spell. I assume that whoever was struck by this has recently seen a healer, which is why the rune vanished.”

“Agleson…” Rydia trailed off as she thought of the man she had come to care deeply for, who she had left behind, who may now be under some unknown spell. Her worry was clear, but she also had faith that Rosa was well equipped to handle anything that might have happened. She kept her focus on the task at hand, letting her anxiety fall away. “Yes, he went with Queen Rosa and her healers just after I arrived here. He seemed in perfect health except that the wound it created did not fully heal when given an elixir.”

“That would suggest a very specific trigger,” Aeris explained. “If the elixir healed everything but the wound, then the trigger was likely a regeneration spell.”

“I’m beginning to think we should have come to see you before an attempt was made to heal him.” Rydia’s anxiety began to creep back to the surface, but she remained strong and adamant that they continue. Agleson’s innocent face flashed into her head, his warm smile and sensitive eyes unaware of her intentions the moment before she cast her spell, sending him into peaceful slumber. “I do not wish to waste any time here. I need to return to Baron as soon as we discover what we are dealing with. What else do we know about this rune? What of the symbol from Cecil’s dream, the one surrounding the sigil?”

“Yes, the symbol that Cecil drew is from ancient times, and represented different things to different people,” Lukhan began, leaning back in his seat as though he was getting comfortable for a lengthy explanation. “The most common meaning found in our recorded history is the connection between the Earth and its two moons, represented by the three smaller circles, the triangle linking them in a sacred bond, and the larger circle representing the sun that watches over all of them. When early Mysidians first discovered how to use magic, they believed it was because of this sacred bond, that some greater gods had aligned these celestial bodies in such a way that it infused the planet with this newfound power.  To ensure they appeased the gods so that they may continue to use magic, they always surrounded their runes with this symbol. Of course, as the early Mysidians became more civilized and less tribal, they realized this to be patently unnecessary, and the use of the symbol faded into—”

“In short, what we know is that the magic is quite old,” Aeris interrupted as she tried to move things along, knowing well that Lukhan enjoyed hearing himself talk. She could also clearly see the concern that Rydia carried in her eyes, unlike her oblivious partner. “Runes like this haven’t been seen for nearly a thousand years. It is likely that it even pre-dates the era of the Magi.”

“The Magi?” Rydia queried.

“A tyrannical group of megalomaniacal mages, hell-bent on world domination through ethnic cleansing,” Lukhan quickly explained as he caught Aeris’s eyes telling him to keep it brief. “You need know little more than that, as they were overthrown and virtually wiped out 500 years ago. If you think Palom and I have massive egos, these guys make us look like good little shepherd boys.”

“You? A good little shepherd boy?” Aeris snorted, unable to contain her mirth at the mental image he had invoked. “Now _that_ would be a sight to see!”

“And you better believe I would be the _best_ shepherd you’ve ever seen!” Lukhan responded with a smirk.

“Ahem,” Rydia politely interrupted, though she did enjoy the banter between these two. It made her realize she missed Agleson’s company.

“Yes yes, back to the matter at hand,” Lukhan said as he began taking books from the stacks one by one and spreading them out on the table. There were eight in all. “Since we believe the rune pre-dates the Magi, we can narrow down the search to only those texts from before that time period. Lucky for you, we have very little recorded history from that long ago.”

 “So this entire archive is devoted to just the last 1000 years?” Rydia asked, rather amazed as she looked up at the seemingly endless tower of bookshelves surrounding them.

“Oh yes, beginning with the birth of the era of the Magi,” Aeris explained. “They kept impeccable records of their people, their cultivation of magic, their rituals and legends. Even after their downfall, our people have continued to mark the most valuable moments and memories of nearly every Mysidian life that has entered and left this world. It helps us observe the trends in our culture, and to ensure that we do not make the same mistakes made by our predecessors.”

“And you two are responsible for recording all of this?” Rydia was beginning to find this all a bit too hard to believe. Two people couldn’t possibly record every moment of every Mysidian.

“While this job used to be handled by a much larger cast, _I_ developed an enchantment that would record the memories of each person without ever having to touch quill to paper,” Lukhan replied proudly, leaning back in his chair with his thumb pointed at his head. “We simply have to keep the volumes organized.”

Rydia was still not completely convinced. “But then shouldn’t books be flying off the shelves all the time?”

“Hold that thought,” Aeris said with a smile. She held up her hand, palm facing upwards and whispered a quick word. A swirl of pearly light coalesced and formed a brightly glowing orb. It then shot up into the darkness, painting a broad stripe of light on the bookshelves as it ascended. It eventually came to a stop, and the glow intensified until it filled the space with light. What Rydia saw caused her to reel with shock.

High above them, books were floating and circling like vultures riding thermal streams. Some of them would suddenly close and venture back to the nearby shelves, while others would then slide out and open. It was a swarm of leather and papyrus, and Rydia eventually found she had forgotten to breathe, unable to focus on anything other than the wondrous ballet of books. The orb of light eventually died, and the space above was returned to darkness, the light from the sconces only keeping their immediate area illuminated.

“That was…amazing,” Rydia finally let out, still mesmerized by the magic.

“Yes, I really outdid myself with that one,” Lukhan boasted.

“And every memory is recorded?”

“Only those memories that people wish to have recorded,” Aeris assured the inquisitive summoner. “Every person is allowed an artifact of their choosing to be enchanted, which binds that artifact to a specific book in this archive. This enchanted artifact becomes what we call an animus. When they hold their animus, or speak to it directly, it will record whatever they wish.”

“Fascinating…!” Rydia said, still enthralled by it, so much so that she had forgotten why she was even here.

“While I would love for you to continue telling me how incredible I am, we really must get back to business,” Lukhan interrupted, waving his open palm over the selected texts on the table. “These eight books are all that we have on magic pre-dating the Magi. While it may not seem like much, there are still many runes to cover, and—”

“And I’m sure you do not want to be stuck in here with _him_ any longer than you have to,” Aeris cut in, pointing her thumb at Lukhan while giving Rydia a wink and a smile. Rydia couldn’t help but release a brief giggle as she caught Lukhan narrowing his eyes at Aeris with a huff.

“It’s fine, really,” Rydia assured them. “After living in the Land of the Summons for so long, human contact of any kind is a blessing. But I’m ready to begin, just show me where to start.”

“We’ll start with the oldest records we have, and then work our way forward,” Lukhan suggested as Aeris slid the first dusty tome in front of her. “It begins with elementary healing spells, which I believe we can skip over since it’s unlikely this magic is intended to heal its victim. The second half covers black magic, and ends with the first and only recorded inscriptions of the forbidden magics, of which there are only four that we are aware.”

“The forbidden magics?” asked Rydia.

“Four magical spells that are deemed so potent, so dangerous, that they are only to be used in the most extreme of circumstances,” Aeris explained. “Few have the strength of will to cast such magic, and one must go to extraordinary lengths to obtain them. They are Meteo, Ultima, Trine, and Domina.”

“Indeed, the path to acquiring the forbidden magics has long been forgotten, and these texts do little to explain the way since they were written in a dead language, one we are regrettably poor at translating,” Lukhan added. “But someone ages ago must have acquired them and recorded their rune shapes, for it is all the knowledge we have on them. No Magi ever unlocked their power, and until the war, no one in recorded history had ever witnessed them being cast.”

“Cecil told me about Tellah’s sacrifice, using his life energy to cast Meteo in an attempt to stop Golbez,” Rydia said, sadly recalling the difficulty Cecil had in describing that terrible memory. They were all silent for a respectful moment as they acknowledged Tellah’s courage.

“We are lucky that Tellah had such noble intentions,” Lukhan broke the silence. “The compulsion for someone to use these spells for evil is even stronger.”

“I imagine that is why they are considered forbidden,” Rydia commented. Her eyes fell upon the worn cover of the aged book before her as she mentally prepared herself for the task ahead. “I apologize for my distractions, let’s begin and hope we find this rune quickly.”

She pinched her fingers on the rough corner of the leather cover, gently lifting it as it traced an arch from the worn paper to the wooden table. As carefully as she could, she flipped through the pages, trying not to get lost in the incredible feeling that she was touching pieces of history that were written over a millennia ago. The words were in a language she did not recognize, but some of the runes were recognizable as base spells, from which many variants now existed. None of the healing runes triggered anything from her memory, but they had all expected that. The black magic runes were also very basic in their design, and she recognized most of them instantly, being adept in this particular craft. But again, none of the runes resembled the one she had seen on the crossbow bolt, which still lay silently empty in the center of the table.

The last few pages were reserved for the forbidden magics, as Lukhan had said, and although she didn’t believe she would find the answer there, she couldn’t fend off her curiosity. She flipped the page and found a very intricate rune, unlike anything she had ever seen. It curved and swirled in what appeared to be eddies, or flames, or possibly both.

“That is the rune for Meteo,” Lukhan said, noticing that Rydia had stopped to analyze this one in particular. “Surely this was not inscribed upon the bolt?”

“No, no, it’s just…interesting to see it,” Rydia answered, never taking her eyes off the page. She flipped the page to another unfamiliar rune, a circle with ten uneven lines radiating from its center.

“Ultima,” Aeris chimed in. “From what little we’ve been able to decipher from the ancient language, its destructive power is manifested in a burst of pure magical energy, an unstoppable wave that quite literally vaporizes all that it touches.”

“That sounds even more dangerous than Meteo,” Rydia responded in awe.

“While Ultima certainly means death for anyone or anything it is cast upon, its scale appears to be limited to a single target,” Lukhan explained. “The scale of Meteo is effectively limitless, and depends entirely on the amount of energy put into it. If enough wizards banded together, pouring their collective energy into casting this single spell, it could potentially destroy this entire world.”

“I had no idea it could be so powerful,” said Rydia as her eyes traced the rune once more before turning the page. The next rune was a set of three interlocking triangles with three lines bisecting each of them, creating what seemed like a kaleidoscope of smaller triangles. “And this one?”

“Trine,” Lukhan responded. “A spell that we believe requires three mages to cast, and which results in three sequential effects. The first is a magical trap, holding the victim in an inescapable prison. The second, the spirit is stripped from the victim which, of course, kills them. The third, that spirit energy is redistributed to the three mages, effectively prolonging their lives and increasing their magical potential. Consistent use of this spell could ultimately grant a person immortality. This is, of course, purely speculation as no one has ever witnessed it to the best of our knowledge.”

Rydia nodded her understanding, keeping her focus on the pages and trying hard not to waste any more time with distractions. But when she turned to the next page she couldn’t hide it, her eyes lighting up as she reflexively dropped the page. Lukhan and Aeris both picked up on her sudden interest.

“What is it?” Aeris asked.

“Is that the sigil?” Lukhan followed after.

“That’s…that’s it,” Rydia answered with quiet excitement. Like calligraphy painted by a master’s hand, this rune was intricate and without pattern, but there was no denying that this was what she saw. Her excitement quickly turned to dread when she looked up to see the worried faces of the two historians. Rydia’s eyes pleaded almost as urgently as her words. “What is this spell?”

“That…that is Domina,” Lukhan whispered, his glare deathly serious.

“This cannot be,” Aeris followed in breathless shock, her eyes sinking slowly into terror.

“What effect does it have?” Rydia begged for more information, her eyes darting between the two historians. Lukhan leaned in with a harrowing stare, and she transfixed on him.

“It is possibly the most insidious of the four spells,” Lukhan began with a hint of fear in his voice.  “It allows the caster to possess and manipulate the minds of others, effectively stripping them of their free will. We believe Golbez used this spell to acquire his followers. How he acquired it and subsequently cast it, we are not exactly sure, and since he is gone from this world we may never know.”

Rydia was caught by surprise when her first reaction was to think of Kain. Since the war she never gave the man the courtesy of a thought, but today it seemed she couldn’t help but be distracted by him. She brushed that aside for the moment, as a rush of confusion swept through her mind.

“So then someone has somehow learned and attempted to use forbidden magic?” Rydia pressed, her tone skeptical. “I thought this was supposed to be incredibly difficult magic to wield? Golbez was a uniquely powerful sorcerer and Tellah gave his life to cast a single spell. Is it possible that the enchantment may have failed?”

“Anything is possible, Lady Ambassador,” Lukhan responded, though he did not seem very reassuring. “But what you do not realize is that there are only three mages in this world that could possibly have the knowledge to even begin to properly inscribe this rune, much less wield the kind of magical energy needed to cast it. You are sitting with two of them.”

“And the third…?” Rydia wondered aloud, though she quickly answered her own question. “The Elder?! You think he has played some part in all of this?”

“We cannot jump to that conclusion, Lukhan,” Aeris stepped in, seeing that her partner was considering a possible nod of affirmation. She rose from her seat as she prepared to passionately defend the noble leader of their beloved Mysidia. “The Elder is a man of peace, and would never conduct himself in such a manner. We must consider the possibility that an outsider has somehow learned the secret of this magic.”

“Who else could have possibly breached this archive?!” Lukhan came back, standing from his chair in retaliation. “Much less found this text and subsequently translated it to the point that they could—”

“Wait!” Rydia interrupted before tensions grew any heavier. “Didn’t you say that Golbez used this spell to acquire his followers during the war?”

“Well…yes,” Lukhan conceded, slowly sinking back into his chair. Aeris followed suit as their anxiety levels began to recede.

“Is it possible that one of those followers could have learned this magic from him?” Rydia asked, though the question seemed rather rhetorical to everyone.

“I see your point,” Lukhan admitted with a sigh. “I apologize for my outburst. Those apostates that followed Golbez and were lucky enough not to perish at his heel may indeed still be hiding in dark corners, hoping to continue the Dark Lord’s work.”

“So what this means is that someone was trying to gain control…” Rydia stopped midsentence as the severity of this suddenly hit her. “…over _me_.”

“This spell was intended for _you_?” Aeris reached out to her, grasping her hand tenderly.

“Yes,” Rydia responded, though she was distracted with her own thoughts as she recalled the incident in Agart for the two historians. They listened intently as she ended with the bard’s noble sacrifice. “Agleson lunged to take the bolt, ensuring my safety. Agleson…now _he_ is at risk of being controlled by…by…no, this doesn’t make sense!”

“Dwarves cannot cast magic,” said Lukhan, nodding in agreement that the whole situation was perplexing. “Though it is still possible that an apostate was working with someone in the King’s court.”

“Philip,” Rydia said the name with disdain. “ _He_ is the one behind this, I know it. He _must_ have found an apostate and acquired them as an ally. I thought he simply wanted to _kill_ me, but to _control_ me? What purpose could that serve?”

“To control the only living summoner?” Lukhan asked, another question that immediately sounded rhetorical to everyone. “Power drives people to despicable extremes, and no community is perfectly immune to corruption. The apostates would likely use your abilities to retake Mysidia and usher in a rebirth of the Magi. Perhaps this Philip struck a deal to insure his own place in a seat of power over a new world order.”

“So then a nullification spell should dispel the enchantment, right?” Rydia begged the question with hope that Agleson would be alright when she returned to Baron.

“It is possible, but…” Aeris began, but couldn’t bring herself to say anything that might crush the summoner’s spirit. She looked to Lukhan to finish the thought.

“The truth is that we don’t know,” Lukhan answered honestly. “We have no knowledge of anyone who has been affected and subsequently cured, much less survived this magic.”

Rydia looked at each of the historians with serious, yet distressed eyes. She knew what she had to do now.

“I do,” Rydia replied as she stood from her chair. Lukhan and Aeris both stood after her, intrigued by her admission. “I must go. Thank you both for your help, and I promise to repay the favor when I have learned more of this.”

“We appreciate your time, Rydia,” Aeris responded with a generous smile. “Please come see us whenever you like.”

Rydia gave them a final curtsey before she made her exit from the archive, looking up into the endless void above one last time, imagining the books hovering and swirling, recording the lives of these simple and wonderful people. It was a brief respite from her current mission, one she was not entirely comfortable undertaking, for the person she sought was the last person she wanted to speak with.

**:::**

She found him in the Mysidian Abbey courtyard, kneeling before an ebony statue in silent meditation. She crept slowly down the walkway behind him, not at all confident in what she might say to him, or whether she was prepared for what he might say to her. Her face did little to hide her concern as she was now close enough to see his broad shoulders lift with each calm breath he took, his blond hair trailing down the right side of his neck, his head bowed to the strange obelisk that seemed to consume any and all light that touched it.

Finding a way to trust him again was going to be difficult. She always thought that if he truly cared about Cecil and Rosa, he never would have let himself succumb, that he would have fought against it any way that he could. Even after the spell was broken, something had always seemed sinister about him. His quiet, brooding nature left her unsettled, as though he was hiding something from everyone. But while the knowledge that Golbez used such powerful magic made it somewhat easier to accept, it also worried her that this magic could still be lingering within him, especially after what Matoya had said.

She stopped when she was finally close enough to speak to him, though she remained behind him. His azure armor glistened in the sunlight, a radiant blue beacon against the empty darkness before which he knelt. His helmet and spear lay peacefully at his side, the dragon resting comfortably in the soft grass. Part of her felt some pity for him, a man who was filled with darkness beyond his control. But part of her also still feared him, for he still remained so closed off from everyone, so unwilling to let his emotions show. How could she ever trust someone like that?

“You are right not to trust me,” Kain finally spoke, unmoving from his meditative stance. Rydia gasped in surprise as she had not expected him to detect her presence so easily.

“How did you…?” Rydia trailed off in surprise.

Kain didn’t answer immediately, head still bowed to the stone rising with steady, cyclic breaths. When he did finally speak, his voice was stern and unapologetic. “Why have you come for me?”

“I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you,” Rydia tried to sound confident and regal, as her title of Ambassador would demand, but she found it came out sounding unbearably stuffy and stilted. She sighed as she tried to push through her biases against him. “And…Cecil says we should talk more.”

“Cecil…” Kain huffed, then laughed. Rydia was surprised that his laugh was not sinister as she might have expected, but gentle and genuine. Kain’s head lifted and turned towards Rydia as she walked around him to greet him face to face. He was actually smiling a little, not devilishly as she had always imagined, but sincerely. She didn’t remember him being so ruggedly handsome, either, but then she rarely ever saw him without his helmet on. “Always wanting the best for everyone, isn’t he?”

“I suppose,” Rydia responded, her emotions thrown off as her expectations of the conversation were sent into a tailspin. Was he actually trying to be friendly?

“And what do _you_ think?” asked Kain, his face turning serious once again.

“I trust Cecil’s judgement,” Rydia responded. “He believes you wish to make amends. But I also know that you have broken his trust before. Know that as long as I am here I will _not_ allow you to hurt him again.”

“I understand,” Kain agreed with a simple nod. “I respect your candor, Lady Ambassador.”

“You can call me Rydia, Kain,” she came back with a huff. “We know each other well enough that we can skip the formalities.”

“As you wish…Rydia,” said Kain, his blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight. “What was it that you needed from me?”

  “Golbez, he…” Rydia started, but caught herself when she noticed his eye twitch slightly at the mention of the name. This wasn’t at all how she had intended to start the conversation, but disorder had overtaken any sense of decorum. She decided that she would try to be more considerate around this tender issue. “He used a type of rare magic in his…attempt to control you…”

“It was more than an attempt, Rydia,” Kain replied sternly. “He succeeded.”

“I know…I’m sorry,” Rydia found herself flummoxed that it had so quickly reached the point that she was apologizing to him. Apologizing to the man that nearly destroyed the people she loved.

“You do not need to apologize to me,” Kain responded, almost as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Rydia thought perhaps her face gave away more of her thoughts than she realized.

“Well, this magic that he used to control you,” Rydia continued, pushing through her nerves. “Someone else has apparently learned the spell, and it has recently been used in an attempt to control me.”

Kain’s eyes suddenly went wide, and though she could tell he was trying to hide his shock, his mouth fell open ever so slightly. He was truly worried, and she could see it clear as day. It began to give her a better sense of him, to see some hint of emotion in his face.

“How can this be?” Kain whispered as he turned to the statue of darkness before him. The endless shadow that enveloped it was unforgiving. Rydia could tell he was tense.

“I’m not sure, yet. It all happened so quickly, just a week ago in Agart…” Rydia answered, quickly explaining the attack and the enchanted crossbow bolt. Kain listened intently as he turned to face her, his deep blue eyes absorbing her words, his brow furrowing slightly deeper by the end. “I just spoke with the Mysidian historians, and they believe it could be apostates that followed Golbez during the war. He may have taught them this magic. Was there anything you might have seen during your…time with him that may confirm this?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Kain responded, turning his eyes back to the statue. “I never witnessed anything that would suggest he taught his _puppets_ how to perform such magic.”

Rydia was surprised to hear him say something like this, especially considering that in a way he was describing himself. There was an undertone of disgust that she picked up in his voice, and for a moment it made her sad to think that he carried so much self-loathing.

“Is there anything you can tell me about this magic? Anything about how it works or how it—”

“I’m sorry, Rydia, I…” Kain spoke before he turned to her with a solemn face, his eyes begging her not to wander any further down this dark hole. “I cannot return to those memories so freely, I just…I just can’t…”

“This is important, Kain, can you give me something?” Rydia pleaded. Despite how insensitive it felt to do so, she also felt desperate for answers. “Can you at least tell me how you were released from the spell? How you were able to free yourself from it?”

“I will never be free from it,” Kain replied, curtly. His eyes never left hers, but they were not glaring with hate, as she might have suspected. They were filled with defeat. She was taken aback by the admission, and confused by its implications.

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean that his magic still courses through my veins,” Kain answered stoically but honestly. “I still hear his voice…when I…leave myself too vulnerable.”

It was the last thing she ever expected to hear from him. The startling confession pounced on her worst fears: that this man was still harboring some dark force beyond his control; that he could potentially turn against them even if it was against his will. Her strong façade had weakened, but she couldn’t help following up with yet another burning question, though her lip trembled ever so slightly as she spoke.

“But…but you can control it…right?”

“When we were with Cecil’s mother earlier today, when I reached out to her,” said Kain as he looked down as his palm. Rydia unconsciously held her breath in anticipation for his following words. He looked up at her once again with pained eyes as he continued. “It wasn’t _me_ reaching out to her…it was _him_.”

A scream rang out across the sky, and for a moment Rydia thought it was her own. She thought she was reliving the nightmare of when Kain nearly slayed Cecil on the cold crystal floor in Fabul, the blood freely seeping from the dark knight’s fractured chestplate as he begged for mercy. From the moment she and Rosa burst into the room, she remembered every detail vividly: his maniacal laugh as he proclaimed that he had defeated the great dark knight of Baron; his foot stomping on Cecil’s stomach as he lifted his spear, threatening to end the man’s life; then his reeling shock and cowardice when Rosa confronted him, only to kidnap her and laud her over Cecil as some sort of sick trophy. This was how she framed every encounter with Kain, every meeting with him carrying the shade of his betrayal.

The second scream brought her back to reality, as she nearly jumped out of her skin. She involuntarily took a step back when Kain quickly rose to his feet, his helmet and spear in hand, her arm reflexively lifted in defense. She had to take a few deep breaths to calm her nerves before she realized what was happening. As the screams continued, both Rydia and Kain looked to see where they were coming from. It seemed as though they were resonating from the village, outside of the Abbey. Rydia turned to see Kain lifting his helmet to place it upon his head, his eyes vanishing behind the blue steel. He looked menacing, just as she always remembered, and when he looked down at her she felt like she was six years old again.

“Come on, we need to see what has happened,” Kain suggested with modest urgency. The screams had stopped, but there still seemed to be a great deal of commotion outside the Abbey.

“Y-yes, let’s go,” Rydia agreed. Kain began marching at a brisk pace, and Rydia nearly had to jog behind him to keep up. As they passed through the arches, she watched the elegant wings of his armor dance between shadow and daylight. Part of her felt ashamed for succumbing to a stereotype she had constructed, but she still found it difficult to trust this man, and knowing that he could still be controlled left her consideration of him in a gray area.

“Over by the Devil Road. Cecil is already there,” Kain informed the summoner as she snapped out of her daze, still nipping at his heels as they shuffled down the steps and toward the throng of Mysidians gathered around the Paladin King. As they pushed through the crowd into the center, Rydia could see Cecil kneeling over a fallen soldier, the scarlet hue of the armor blending with the crimson that his hands streaked over the white cape that was being used to stop the bleeding. A helmet lay nearby sending a piercing glimmer of red to her eyes, but what caught her attention was its shape. The shape of a dragon. It was a soldier from Baron.

“Your Majesty…” the soldier gasped before he coughed a spat of blood into the cloth that Cecil held over his mouth. Rydia watched Cecil, his saddened eyes begging the soldier to hold on, to stay with him long enough to relay his message. “Baron is…burning.”

The words were met with a moment of stunned silence, and Rydia saw Cecil’s eyes wide with disbelief. The whole scene seemed to exist in a blur, and Rydia wondered if she had stepped into a nightmare from which she might soon awaken. Sounds didn’t register in her ears. She didn’t hear Cecil urgently calling to his fallen soldier to hold on. She only saw his hands and their holy glow run over the multiple wounds covering the soldiers body, leading up to a crossbow bolt jutting from his chest. Cecil tore it swiftly from the soldier and tossed it to the side, landing near Rydia’s feet, a spat of blood just missing her toes. She recognized the shape immediately. She didn’t even hear her own voice when she shouted at Cecil to stop, but it was too late.

What happened next defied anything they might have imagined, for as soon as Cecil’s healing magic hovered over the wound, the soldiers body began to glow. Within seconds the body was engulfed in a brilliant green light that erupted into a pillar of unbelievably radiant energy, rising swiftly and endlessly into the sky. The light was blinding. The heat was searing. Rydia felt as though the world was vanishing around her. No sights or sounds existed in this singular moment, and as she shut her eyes, bracing for what was to come, she was overwhelmed with the terrifying feeling that she wasn’t ready to die.


	20. Blood and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip receives an unexpected visitor to his dungeon cell.

 

 

The man lay restrained and broken on the stone, covered in stains of his own blood, rank in its utter filth. Though his wounds had started to heal, the scars ran deep, stubborn in their reluctance to let him forget their pain. His swollen eye was no longer black and blue, but still could not open fully. But what hurt the most was the dagger of his brother’s betrayal still fresh in his back. How he had not been able to see this coming, how he had lost sight of Hector’s motives, he could not fathom. All that he knew was that he would somehow win back the approval of his master, Shin-Ra, and in doing so he would take his revenge upon all who were behind this, even his own flesh and blood.

These thoughts had festered over the many days he had spent locked up in his cell, to the point that he felt he was losing his mind. For the first few days, he had refused to eat or drink anything they brought him in protest, but this only weakened his mind to the point that he lost control of his inhibitions. He would often wake up screaming, cursing his conspirators, and other times he would simply begin to laugh for no apparent reason, descending ever so swiftly into madness. But there came a moment, when the line between hours and days had been blurred beyond recognition, that he realized death was not the answer, that his master would only see this as another failure. So he began to take the nourishment of food and water again, regaining his strength and his mind so that he would be ready when the moment came for him to resume his place at Shin-Ra’s side.

Philip of Tomera, a name that now meant so little to him felt like an old tome of history for which he no longer had any use. His days as a boy growing up in the small underworld hamlet were utterly uninspiring. It was a village built around the diamond mining industry, an occupation that he had never been interested in pursuing. He and his brother had always talked about getting away, making a name for themselves in the dwarven capitol. But currency was scarce, and transport was expensive, and the overwhelming majority of Tomerans had no delusions of finding anything better outside of their ordinary livelihoods, their routine monotony. Only Hector understood his desire to escape.

Their parents were not completely ignorant of their children’s dreams, and they tried to save enough money to buy them transport to the capitol to work in the dwarven fortress city under the rule of King Giott. But Hector was the older of the two, and when he came of age their parents gave up all they had to see him off, leaving Philip behind. Hector promised he would come back for him, and he did, but not until after the devastation of the War of the Crystals.

The war changed everything for him. Philip had always believed the fables of the upperworld, a place where the stone was beneath your feet but not above your head, in its place an infinite expanse of sky that changed colors on a daily basis. It sounded so magical, no matter how far-fetched it seemed. Growing up, Hector was always quick to ridicule his brother for believing in such fool fodder. He was ultimately vindicated when the junction opened up for the first time, and the surface was revealed to be more than myth, emboldening his beliefs in things that seemed unbelievable to others.

But his reignited interest in that dream was pushed aside by the tragedy that the collapse of the Agartian mountains exacted on his community. So many perished in the mines when the junction first opened. Philip and his father were lucky to come out alive, but they saw the bodies pulled from the tunnels that had collapsed, witnessed the families that wept as they carried their fallen back into the village. After the mass funeral held for the dead, the villagers began a ritual of leaving a fallen miner’s canteen—a necessity of life in the dry heat—along the path to the tunnels as a reminder of their sacrifice. The villagers took turns each day collecting the canteens and filling them from the sacred hot springs before laying them along the path. When the miners returned from their daily excavation, they would bring the canteens back and pour the water over the graves of their owners.

Philip felt incredibly lucky that their family remained intact, but when the junction closed again, another wave of tragedy swept through the village. This time, Philip carried the body of his father out of the tunnels, the blood of his family laced with his tears. When he returned to deliver the news, he found his mother bedridden with sulfur poisoning from a fissure that had opened near a field she tended. She passed away not long after learning of her husband’s death, and from that point on Philip was on his own. Each day he poured the water from his father’s canteen over the grave, and each day it hardened him until he began to feel little emotion. His only hope, the only thing that kept him clinging to life, was that his brother would keep his word and save him from this hell.

After the war, when the full scope of the damage was assessed, King Giott sent envoys with word of what had happened, offering assistance and a waiver on fees for travel to the capitol to encourage reconstruction efforts. This was the first time that Philip learned of the five saviors and their journey that opened, closed, and reopened the junction. It was the first time he heard the name Cecil Harvey, and his kingdom of Baron. Philip was there when the envoys first arrived, and that glimmer of hope became a flame as he anticipated that Hector would be one of them. The flame was nearly extinguished when his brother was nowhere to be found in the crowd of numerous aid workers that came to help rebuild their town. He did learn from them that Hector was still alive and well, and had risen in the ranks during the war as he showed great prowess in politics and military strategy, helping the dwarves fight back against Baron at the Tower of Babil, as well as on the great plains of Eblan in the upperworld.

While the majority of the Tomerans were gracious and understanding of the circumstances behind their misfortune, Philip was determined to avenge the fallen. Fractures in the community did begin to form, most notably in a small clan on the outskirts of the village that began referring to themselves as the Followers of Shin-Ra. With each day, each transport on which Hector did not arrive, Philip began to seek refuge in this radical cult. When Hector did finally return, they had become vastly different people. It didn’t help that Hector berated his brother for believing in the nonsensical creed that the cult was feeding him, but ultimately they found common ground in mourning over the graves of their parents. Hector vowed to avenge them, and Philip knew his brother was his only way out, so they left Tomera together that day to begin building a new empire at the cusp of the junction in Agart.

But at this moment none of that mattered. Philip had a singular focus now, a clarity that was strangely satisfying, despite his present physical state. His brother once again refused to accept something he couldn’t believe, and Philip was confident that vindication was again on the horizon. This was his test, his trial to prove he was ready to resume his role as his master’s servant, and perhaps one day show that he could be a worthy vessel.

The muffled sounds of speech on the other side of the thick, steel door caused him to stir. His eyes opened casually though he didn’t bother to get up, his vacant stare expecting another pathetic foot soldier given the demoralizing task of feeding the prisoner to soon enter his cell. The latches churned as steel ground against stone, until the sounds halted to a perfect silence. Then the rush of fresh, cool air seeped in as the door began to slowly open. Philip took in a breath, reeling in his ritual taste of the outside world on the back of his throat. But this time his breath caught in his chest, refusing to release, for the prison guard he was expecting did not step forward to stand before him.

“Philip…my brother…your wounds seem to be healing now that you have started eating again,” said Hector, trying to sound kind, yet authoritative. Philip continued to stare as Hector approached, his prized furs draped over his ornate breastplate, Tomera’s coat of arms etched large in its center. Philip took this as a play on his emotions for the homeland, a decidedly foolish waste of time as far as he was concerned. There was something in his left hand, a canteen. Hector stopped just a few feet away, his eyes reflecting a conflict of regret and purpose. “I wish you could understand why I had to do this.”

Hector didn’t wait for a response before he pulled the cork from the canteen. Philip watched as his brother took a healthy swig before resealing it, though the sigh that came after was not one of satisfaction. Hector tossed the canteen on the floor before his brother, who still lay in the fetal position on the shadow-striped granite. Philip would have appeared completely unconscious if not for the swath of light that illuminated his eyes following every movement that Hector made.

“A bit of respite from the diet water you’ve suffered for too long,” Hector explained the offering, a tinge of grief in his tone. Philip could smell the fermented fruit that stained the leather around the spout, a heavenly odor in comparison to everything else around him. Filling a canteen with wine was a luxury reserved only for Tomeran holidays. “Today is Founder’s Day in Tomera. Drink with me, brother.”

Philip didn’t answer, but he did finally move. Tugging at the long chains that bound his arms to the wall he was able to slowly drag his legs out from underneath him, and with what little strength he could summon he brought himself to one knee. The canteen sat patiently within reach, but Philip only saw it as an extension of someone he could no longer trust, whose grace he could no longer accept. His head hung low as he dug deep to continue trying to stand, his other leg finally obeying his orders to lift him to a standing position, neglecting his brother’s attempt to renew some common bond.

It was exhausting just to stand face-to-face with his brother, his body feeling like a sack of bricks, but he managed to erect himself, lifting his head to look Hector boldly in the eye. Nothing was said between them, just the whispered flicker of torches outside the cell. Philip tried valiantly to stare his brother down, but his failing stamina forced him to make the first move. His mouth twisted into a pucker, a guttural snort echoed from his sinuses, and he spat with all of his might into Hector’s face.

Hector flinched as the phlegm splattered just below his left eye, his head jerking away in disgust. The King reached his hand up to wipe the vile spittle from his cheek, and his glare was ignited like a hot coal as he turned back to his stone cold brother. Hector took one step forward and with his own deep-throated roar he thrust his powerful fist into Philip’s soft belly. Philip collapsed in a heap of chains and soiled clothing, unable to suck in the breath that was just violently forced from his lungs. The sounds of choking gasps soon gave way to deep and desperate breaths, a resonating chamber of pain from which neither of them could escape.  

“You’re a damn _fool_ , Philip!” Hector berated the crumpled man at his feet. The sound of chains scraping stone followed Philip’s desperate attempts to pull himself off the floor. Still reeling from the pain of Hector’s assault, it was much more difficult to make it any further than resting on his knees this time. The canteen still lay expectantly on the floor beside him, but it was clear now that Philip would not accept such a pitiful peace offering. The last thing Philip expected, however, was his brother’s hand held out before him, offering to help him stand once more. “If you would just listen…give me a chance to explain.”

“Sod off you backstabbing prick,” Philip came back, rejecting Hector’s hand with a swat of his own. He wobbled a bit before he slowly rose to his feet, fighting against what felt like an immense gravity screaming at him to return to the floor. He stood in defiant silence once again, the scowl on his face leaving Hector with little to nothing to work with.

“You always were a stubborn bastard, Philip,” Hector replied with a smirk. He just sighed with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to agree with me. You don’t have to agree with what I did. But you _will_ listen to me, brother.”

Philip still remained stagnant, his face a wall of stone, the dirt and dried blood caked in his once vibrant orange beard. He didn’t care what Hector had to say, for there was nothing that would change his mind at this point. Unfortunately, he had to concede that he had no choice but to listen. He would not say this openly. He wouldn’t dare. But he listened, showing no sign of awareness other than the occasional reflexive blink.

“Since we were young we’ve always had ambitions for something greater than what we are,” Hector began, staring confidently at his brother, yet with a strange kindness. “And after everything we’ve been through, what our people went through, we’ve sought to bring the nations of this world to attention.” Hector’s tone suddenly turned curt, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But you and I have very different views on how we would achieve this greatness. I’m afraid you have chosen the wrong direction for this country, brother. You’ve put your faith in an illusion, some cocked up myth peddled by a wizard with more cunning than your sodding finger.”

Philip had to restrain himself from speaking out at the accusations against his master, for he would not let Hector break him. He maintained his composure well, although his snarl grew ever deeper.

“How could you become a pawn in someone else’s game, Philip?” Hector asked with a bit more bite this time, as though he knew that it was getting under his brother’s skin. “Eh, brother? Has this trickster mage sold you on some dream of a glorious life free of the citizens of the upperworld? Nay, brother. He has sold you down the mineshaft for his own personal gain!”

Philips eyes were twitching, his lip quivering as Hector leaned in with his iron glare. But he stayed strong against him still. He did not falter, not one word escaping his lips.

“You and the radicals,” Hector spoke with such disdain as he turned away from Philip, shaking his head before stopping a few steps away. He was silent for a moment. Philip wondered if he was finished, if he would finally leave him be to wait for his master to release him. But Hector wasn’t done. He whipped around with an accusatory finger pointed at his brother. “You fell for the very deception that tore our clans apart! Were you not my brother I’d have your damn head on a pike by the drawbridge!” Hector then dropped his finger, letting loose another sigh. “I only hope that when I lead Agart to the forefront of this world, when we become the greatest nation, that you will see what I have done…for us. I hope you will rejoin me, brother, and be at my side the day we announce to the world that _we_ are vanguards of the new order.”

“I owe no allegiance to you,” Philip finally broke, his low growling words barely audible.

“Come again, dear brother?” Hector asked, for he had not actually heard the words. He took a step closer and tilted his head to ensure he heard them this time.

“I OWE NO ALLEGIANCE TO YOU!!” Philip screamed maniacally, sending Hector reeling back a few steps in response. A scowl formed on Hector’s lips as his pride kicked in. Philip wondered if he might strike him again, but he didn’t give him the chance before he spoke, this time with stern composure. “You will dictate nothing to me. I have but one master. He will free me from this prison when he feels that I am ready. I am paying my penitence to the Lord, Shin-Ra.”

“Get your head out of your arse, Philip!” Hector yelled, having no patience for this nonsense. “He’s nothing but a con-man with a few magic tricks to woo the blissfully ignorant sods that have nothing better to do than hope someone will do everything _for_ them! You’re better than this, brother…you’re smarter than this!”

“We will see who is right!” Philip snapped back at him, the chains pulled taught as he tried to advance on his brother, to make sure he looked him dead in the eye as he slipped the words across the space between them. “Once Shin-Ra has the summoner, he will make the plague of humans that infest this upperworld cease to exist, along with _all_ of the unfaithful. When that moment comes…brother…you will perish.”

“I see,” Hector replied calmly, to Philip’s surprise. He had expected an angry rant in return for his statements, but Hector looked sad more than anything. “So this is it. This is the line you have drawn between us.”

 Hector then turned and walked towards the doorway, reaching a hand to the heavy steel as though he were preparing to slam it shut. But he stopped there, hand resting on the rough steel, his back to the man he called a brother, the man he had chained up like a rabid animal in some filthy dungeon. He turned one last time to look at what had ultimately changed between them, how far they had fallen apart.

“I will prove you wrong, dear brother, I promise you,” Hector threw out one last effort, though it didn’t sound kind-hearted in the least. The King was angry, so angry that he couldn’t bear to look at Philip much longer, couldn’t bear to see what the treacherous mage had done to him. But he had one last statement to make before he shut the door on his own flesh and blood for good. “Because when your _master_ returns, when he comes to claim his prize…” Hector’s eyes were afire with a collected rage. “…I will kill him.”


	21. Incursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa awakens to find that Castle Baron is under siege.

 

 

Rosa was jolted awake by a sharp sound in the distance, followed by a low rumble that shook the foundation of the castle. She tried frantically to push herself upright, but was ensnared in silk sheets, which only caused her to panic even more. Then the rumbling stopped. She calmed down and listened. She heard voices…distance voices…yelling outside of her room. No, not _her_ room. Where was she?

Taking a few deep breaths, Rosa settled her nerves and unbound her arms from the twisted mess she had made of the linens. She found that breathing too deeply sent a pain running up and down her neck. She touched the skin around her throat gingerly, and found it to be incredibly sensitive. The bruises from Agleson’s stranglehold were like a violet rash on her porcelain skin, a swollen reminder of her last waking memory. It sent a shudder down her spine just thinking about his cold, lifeless eyes.

She cast that moment of fear aside quickly, allowing her curiosity to come forward with rejuvenated fervor. Something was clearly amiss in the kingdom. With a cursory glance around the room she recognized she was in a secure, hidden chamber beneath the throne room reserved for protecting the royal family in the instance of an assassination attempt or an unexpected castle infiltration. _The panic room_ , she thought.

Only a handful of people in Baron knew the location of this room. Cecil, Rosa, and a small cadre of elite military officials, led by General Gau. The General was given specific passphrases to gain access when conditions were deemed safe for the royal family to resurface. But Rosa did not feel like waiting. She slipped out of the bed, still in the white wizard robes she was wearing when she was in the infirmary.

The room was small and simple. A bed and an armoire. There was no visible door. Just four solid stone walls with a matching ceiling and floor, four lit sconces casting a muted yellow glow about the room. Another loud pop followed by a deep, reverberating thunder got her attention once more.

She immediately made her way to the armoire, opening it to reveal not only clothes, but a set of armor and weapons for her and her husband. She wasted little time perusing, for she was eager to find out just what was going on. She stripped her robes from her body before reaching for a pair of leather, knee-length trousers and a white linen, sleeveless shirt. Over this she donned a thin, gold-plated steel breastplate with matching arm and leg braces. She took a small strand of fabric to tie her golden hair back in a tight ponytail. A glove went over her right hand, a rune inscribed upon the fabric, enchanting her with rocksteady aim. The bow she took was hewn from scarlet ash, an incredibly rare tree found along the banks of the great northern lake in the Baron highlands. Visually, it stood out with the silver-white wood, streaked with grains of deep red. Practically, it was unmatched in flexibility, resilience, and most importantly elasticity.

Another shuddering boom, this time sounding like it was right above her, caused her to pause momentarily. A thin trail of dust seeped from the crack between the stones in the ceiling above her just as she looked up, causing her to sneeze involuntarily. Something was terribly wrong here. She grabbed her quiver full of arrows, slinging it over her shoulder, glancing at Cecil’s armor briefly as she wished he were at her side at this moment. She walked to the other side of the room and began feeling around the cold granite blocks. Her hand eventually came upon the trigger, and she pushed it in until she heard the latch click. This did not open the door, however, which meant that the mechanisms had failed, possibly due to whatever was causing the noise outside.

She lifted her free hand and whispered the words to caste a levitation spell upon the door, guiding the massive chunk of stone upwards as it was intended, vanishing into its compartment in the ceiling. She maintained her spell until she was through the doorway, into the stairwell on the other side. When she released the spell, the stone door came down with a violent crash, and Rosa was left in total darkness.

Now she could clearly hear voices, soldiers calling out, fighting perhaps. There was a clamor in the throne room above, and Rosa was determined to find out what was at the root of it. Casting a small sphere of magelight, she walked up the narrow, ghostly-lit stairway until once again she came to a stone door. This time she put her ear to the stone, listening for anything that would bring some clarity to the situation before she rushed into what could be a hornet’s nest. Another violent explosion rocked the throne room on the other side of the door, enough to send Rosa nearly tumbling back down the stairs. She steadied herself with her arms against the walls until the tremors subsided.

Then everything went quiet. She pressed her ear to the stone again, but heard nothing, only the faint sound of screams and yelling in the distance. The voices she had once heard on the other side of the door were no more. The adrenaline began to kick in as she realized that the kingdom was under attack, and with a flick of her wrist she brandished her telekinetic powers to force the stone door clear off of its recessed hinges, nearly shattering it with the force of her magic as it impacted the marble pillar that was just a few feet away on the other side.

What she saw when she set foot in the throne room was unreal. Above her, a gaping hole in the great ceiling where it had collapsed from some incredible force, a beam of sunlight boring through a stream of smoke rising from a mountain of smoldering stone blocks on the red velvet carpet below. Smoke and ash swirled around the room in the strong crosswind flowing through several other breaches in the throne room walls, exposing it to the outdoors. It was like a snowstorm of cinder and ember, bits and pieces released from banners with Baron heraldry that slowly disintegrated where they hung, wafting like ghosts throughout the main hall.

It reeked of sulfur, a smell that was familiar but she couldn’t quite place where she would have been exposed to it before. She thought perhaps the alchemy shops in the village, or maybe the afterburn of a spell gone awry, or…no, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, as though the memory of the scent was locked away somewhere in the distant past.

A sound caught her attention in the middle of the throne room, a block of stone rolling down the pile that had dropped from the ceiling. One of these blocks could easily crush her if she were not careful, and she crept discreetly through the throne room, pulling an arrow from her quiver and setting it upon her bowstring in anticipation for an encounter. As she crept through the room, she soon realized she was alone. But hadn’t she heard voices? Where were the bodies? Nothing made sense, but she definitely heard what sounded like the roars of soldiers engaged in battle in the distance.

Rosa stepped cautiously around the pile of stone in the middle of the room as she made her way toward the throne room doors, one of which lay haphazardly upon the floor, as though it had been blown open from the outside by an incredible force. She glanced up every so often to ensure that a stone had not dislodged from the precarious rift in the ceiling. She was able to see one of the castle spires through the hole, saw it crumbling as it belched thick black smoke from within.

She heard a suspicious click in the shadows beyond the throne room door, and thanks to the rush of adrenaline pumping through her muscles she had the reflexes to cast a barrier spell just as a crossbow bolt came flying toward her. It deflected harmlessly off the barrier, and before the bolt hit the floor Rosa had drawn her bow and loosed an arrow into the darkness. The sound of a man howling in pain ensured her that she had hit her mark. But she didn’t dare move again, as three figures began to take shape, their frames much shorter than the average man.

As they came into the light, Rosa could see the three dwarves clearly: their horned helmets, their black armor smattered with crimson blood, an unfamiliar coat of arms emblazoned on the steel. All she really noticed about it was a shield with chevrons, and a dragon with wings spread. Two of the dwarves wielded black-steel great-axes and the third held the crossbow, though one of his arms was disabled with Rosa’s arrow protruding from the bicep. Each of their heavily bearded faces seemed disgruntled and less than willing to make any efforts at diplomacy.

“This must be her, the almighty Queen of Baron,” one of the dwarves grunted sarcastically.

“Aye, that’s her,” the other replied. “We are under orders to take her alive, along with King Cecil and Ambassador Rydia.”

“Well I ‘ave an arrow ‘ere in me arm tha’ says we tell Philip she was dead when we found ‘er,” the third dwarf chimed in with a noticeably different dialect from his comrades. Rosa pulled another arrow from her quiver and drew her bow, threatening to put this one between the dwarf’s eyes. “Now now, Yer Majesty. Le’s no’ be too hasty.”

That’s when Rosa heard the click of another crossbow locking pin, but this time it was behind her. She felt the pressure of the tip of the bolt tapping the back of her armor. A shot at that range would most certainly kill her. She conceded, releasing the tension on her bow and letting the arrow drop harmlessly to the floor.

“Tha’s a good girl,” the dwarf behind her spoke, a similar drawl in his voice. He prodded her forward and she stepped toward the three dwarves standing before her. “We knew ye was in ‘ere, Highness, just couldn’ find yer secret room. Was the only room no’ on the map, see?”

“Olgrin, you daft bag of shite, shut your sodding trap or I’ll shut it for you!” the first dwarf chided, clearly the leader of this particular band. “Follow your orders or I’ll make sure Philip has your head when we return.”

“Come with us, Your Highness,” the second dwarf ordered as he took her bow from her. “And if you try to use any kind of magic, we _will_ kill you, without hesitation.”

It may have been an empty threat, but Rosa wasn’t willing to push it. As they began to lead her out of the throne room, she caught a glimpse of red reflected in the corner of her eye. She discreetly peeked in that direction to see a figure spying on them from one of the giant holes in the wall leading to an outside parapet. It was a dragon knight, from the Order of the Red Dragon. He then disappeared, and Rosa knew that she was safe at that point. If the dragon knights had reached the castle from their stronghold in Odin’s Glen then this incursion was about to be turned on its head.

They made it through the antechamber without incident, but when they exited through the next set of doors it was another shocking and horrifying visage to behold for the Queen of Baron. As they stood at the top of the grand staircase leading down to the Rotunda, Rosa was able to take in the full extent of what had occurred. It was as if the castle had been bombed from above and below, with multiple fractures and gaping gashes in the stone ceiling as well as several craters in the marble floor. The sunlight pouring through, casting sunbeams as it ignited the dust that filled the cavernous room, was a startlingly beautiful juxtaposition to the massacre than it illuminated. Debris was strewn everywhere, and bloodied bodies littered the floor, some still grasping for anything that they could, as though they were trying to hold on to every last strand of life within reach. The cries and moans of soldiers and citizens alike crushed her heart and she fought hard to keep the tears from bursting out of her. It took everything not to fall to her knees and break down right there on the stairs, as the Rotunda appeared to be a mass grave in waiting. She held it together as they descended the stairs, held it in as long as she could.

It wasn’t enough. Whoever these vile murderers were, they didn’t deserve to get away with something like this. By the time they made it to the ground floor, her sadness had quickly been converted to anger. She clenched her fists hard, felt her nails slice through the skin of her palms, the warm blood on her finger tips. When she heard the whistle from above she knew it was time to act. The three dwarves in front of her instinctively stopped to look toward the sound, and that’s when she cast her spell, sending a shockwave of immense telekinetic power that sent the three dwarves sailing across the Rotunda, smashing with deadly force into the walls.

The dwarf behind her didn’t have time to react as three dragon knights dropped down from above, disarming him and pulling him away from the Queen, thrusting him against the nearest wall with brute force. Rosa cast a spell to retrieve her bow that the dwarf had dropped, and it rose quickly towards her. When its handle hit her palm, she spun around, whipping an arrow from behind her and drawing it fiercely, its barbed head pointed directly at the bridge of the remaining dwarf’s nose.  He was restrained by two dragon knights, the red dragon on the left, and a white dragon on the right. A dragon knight wearing gold armor approached her, his helmet especially ornate, a mark of significant rank.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” asked the strong and familiar voice. Rosa was happy to hear it, but at the moment she burned with a singular desire.

“I’m fine, Commander Seiks,” Rosa answered hoarsely, her voice noticeably impacted from the bruising around her larynx. She took a few steps forward, keeping her hardened glare on the dwarf as she approached, her bow still drawn as the arrow sighted a line to the center of his forehead. His eyes returned to the Queen as she made one clear, concise demand. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t split your head open right here and now.”

“P-Please yer Highness, I was only doin’ wha’ I was told,” the dwarf bumbled pathetically as he pleaded for his life. “I’m a jus’…I’m jus’…”

“Spit it out!” Rosa tried to shout, though her throat burned with every word. It came out as more of a raspy whisper, though her tone was unmistakably cold.

“Your Highness,” Commander Seiks said as he laid his golden gauntlet of a hand upon Rosa’s shoulder in an effort to calm her fervor.

“No!” Rosa shrugged the hand away, maintaining her arrow on the perpetrator. “He will answer for this.”

“Was told if I…if I jus’ follow me orders then me family could move up here…tha’ we’d be bleedin’ nobles when Philip offed his brother,” the dwarf spat out as quickly and coherently as he could, hoping it would be enough to spare him. “I’m jus’ heppin’ me family…me wife Atha, me daughter Maribel.”

“Don’t…you…dare!” Rosa retaliated with a raspy bark. “How many families…wives, daughters, husbands, sons…how many have your actions here destroyed?”

The fury in her eyes was terrifying, and the dwarf saw her arm draw back just a bit more, heard the sound of the bowstring tensing, the creak of the bow against the stress. Her eyes narrowed and the dwarf’s eyes closed tightly, breath held as he braced for the end of his pitiful life.

“Your Highness, he may have valuable information,” the commander’s solid voice resonated in the silence. “I would advise an escort to General Gau for interrogation.”

The dwarf peeked one of his eyes open, the vision of Rosa’s cold stare split by a razor-edged arrow still baring down on him. Her breathing was starting to slow down as the adrenaline of the situation began to wear off, and she finally lowered her bow, taking the arrow from the string and replacing it gracefully in her quiver. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, though she did not openly weep. Her face never wavered. The dwarf finally let out his breath.

“Fine. You are right,” Rosa conceded. She wiped the wetness from her eyes quickly and sucked in a solid breath. “But first…”

The dwarf’s eyes went wide once more as he saw Rosa rear her arm back just before she delivered a strong fist to his nose. The satisfying crack ensured her that it had broken, the blood that began to stream down his lips only a fraction of what she wanted to extract from him. She shook her hand from the sting that resonated through her knuckles as the two dragon knights dragged the prisoner away. The Queen turned to the commander who still stood behind her, her once iron glare fading into worry.

“Erik…what is happening?” she pleaded, her eyes still glistening. High Commander Erik Seiks had been a close confidant with both Cecil and Rosa, serving as set of eyes and ears within the Order of the Dragon to provide more intimate and sensitive information than even the Generals could gather. Being in such close contact also allowed him the privilege of becoming a close friend to the King and Queen.

“We’re not entirely sure, Your Highness, we only just arrived,” Erik spoke gravely, his strong eyes burning for some sense of clarity. “As soon as the bombs began to fall upon the castle we scrambled every available unit from Odin’s Glen.”

“The bombs?” she asked, her hand now reaching for her throat as the pain of her bruises began to throb even more with each word.

“I didn’t believe my eyes at first, but…” the commander took a moment, a deep sigh that visibly pushed through the thin haze of smoke that filled the room. “It was the Red Wings.”

“How…?” Her eyes were wide and white, the bow clattering to the floor as her hand instinctively lifted to her mouth.

“That is what I intend to find out,” Erik replied. “I have all of our units spread out over the kingdom, and I have multiple recon units directed to report back to me at the throne room as soon as they learn anything. We’ll have a more defensible position there, so we should—”

His words were cut short when another explosion at the other end of the Rotunda sent a shockwave through the room, and a thick plume of smoke and dust quickly filled the air, darkening their surroundings considerably. The dragon knight instinctively took a defensive stance in front of the Queen, his spear held out in the direction of the attack. Rosa quickly grabbed her bow and pulled an arrow from her quiver, setting the fletching upon the string.

As the dust began to settle, and the ringing in their ears subsided, the sound of approaching soldiers rose with a crescendo. Multiple shadowed figures could be seen marching through the smoke, but as they drew nearer it became clear that six dwarven soldiers with sword and shield were here to make sure that the Queen was captured.  

Rosa drew her bow, but Commander Seiks lifted his hand to suggest that she stand down. She couldn’t understand giving up now, but then she heard the clink of armor behind them. She turned to see two more dwarves with crossbows descending the stairs behind them. They were quickly surrounded and impossibly outnumbered. A pang of fear ran down her spine, but she looked to the commander for some sign that he had a plan. She saw nothing but a face of stone.

“You have two options,” one of the dwarves spoke. “You relent, give up, and you will live. Or you can resist, fight back, and you will die.”

“You seem quite sure of yourself,” Commander Seiks responded stoically.

“You have lost,” the dwarf came back without fluster. “Baron has fallen, and your airships are now under our command. We have orders to take King Cecil, Queen Rosa, and Ambassador Rydia back to Agart…alive, preferably. If you do not comply then we will continue to burn this castle to the ground, along with every last one of its citizens.”

“You bastard—!” Rosa cried, but Commander Seiks once again raised his arm to keep her from saying anything else that might further aggravate the situation.

“I propose a third option,” Erik replied, his face unwavering. The dwarf grunted with mild irritation. “You will surrender every one of your soldiers and submit to Baron’s rule of law, and if you are lucky you will live out the rest of your days in our dungeon.”

The dwarves began to laugh, each one of them looking at each other in disbelief at such unabashed insolence. They were too busy reveling in the absurdity of Erik’s words to notice him lift his chin ever so slightly. That’s when one of the dwarves began to cough, his skin turning pale and sickly until his body froze in place, a light mist of steam from the chilled air surrounding him. It all happened so swiftly that the other dwarves didn’t even notice until a spear burst through his chest in a spray of crushed ice. The dwarf’s body then shattered as the spear was wrenched free, the shower of frozen bits framing the red dragon knight that had snuck up behind him.

The chaos that ensued was a blur, as two gold dragon knights leapt into the fray, followed by one of white. Rosa immediately drew her bow and released an arrow that caught one of the dwarven archers in the throat. Unfortunately, she was not quick enough to take down the second archer before a bolt was sent straight at her. She didn’t have time to react or cast a barrier, but she saw a flash of gold before her eyes and heard a grunt as the bolt hit steel.

Commander Seiks had stepped in front of her, turning his back so that the bolt struck just below his shoulder blade. Luckily his armor stopped it from piercing his skin too deeply, but Rosa could tell it clearly hurt based on the brief grimace after the impact. Commander Seiks then quickly turned and threw his spear with incredible aim, its head disappearing in the chest of his assailant, the dwarf falling lifelessly to the floor.

Shouts, orders and cries were heard everywhere as the squad of dragon knights swiftly exacted their lethal tactics. Commander Seiks remained as Rosa’s human shield, but from their vantage it was clear that the dwarves were outmatched. The gold dragon knights used their brute strength to overpower their adversaries, easily splintering shields with their powerful spears with every arcing leap. The red dragon knight displayed his combined skills, igniting his opponent’s raised shield with a fire spell, allowing for an open strike as the dwarf desperately tried to drop it. The white dragon knight was especially graceful, using spells of haste to outmaneuver each swing of the opponent’s sword, until finally sweeping the legs out from under the dwarf and dropping a spear into his chest. In less than a minute the dwarves had fallen, and an eerie silence fell upon them.

“Commander Seiks, are you all right?” the white dragon knight said with concern as she approached.

“Please, see to the Queen first, Lieutenant,” the commander said as he stepped aside to reveal Rosa standing behind him. The white dragon knight stopped abruptly before removing her helmet and bowing on one knee before the Queen.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” said the warrior woman, her head still aimed at the floor.

“I am fine, thank you, you may rise,” Rosa commanded with a raspy whisper. She watched as the white dragon knight stood. She was stunningly beautiful, but with a rugged touch to her features. Her blonde hair was straight and long and it all rushed down her back like a golden waterfall off a white cliff. Rosa could see a great strength of will in her sky-blue eyes, and there was also something else familiar about her that she could not place. The dragon knight replaced her helmet, which snapped Rosa out of her distraction, and she noticed the commander reaching behind him to assess the damage of the bolt in his back. “Erik, your wound…you need medical attention.”

“Please, Your Highness, allow me,” the Lieutenant offered. “We need to get you to safety.”

“I understand your concern, Lieutenant…” Rosa trailed off, lifting her hand to indicate she expected the soldier to fill in the blank.

“Lieutenant Commander Sera Javelynn, Your Highness,” she replied with another respectful bow of her head.

“I appreciate your concern, Sera, but _my_ concern right now is helping my people,” Rosa responded firmly, though her throat ached. “You have been trained as a white mage, no?”

The white dragon knight nodded.

“Then you know the creed of the healer.”

“But, Your Highness—”

“Lieutenant, you will stand down. That’s an order. The Queen has spoken,” Commander Seiks interrupted. The woman looked at him as she relented with a reluctant sigh.

“Yessir. I hear you, loud and clear, Commander,” Sera replied with a more respectful tone.

“Oh no…Erik, this bolt…it is enchanted,” Rosa said as she had already begun inspecting the wound. She could see part of the daggerhead bolt, its design matching the one that Rydia had brought to her just the day before. She could also see the glow of a rune barely protruding from the split in the armor, a drizzle of crimson blood trailing down his back.

“What does that mean, Your Highness?” the commander asked. Sera also walked around to see what Rosa was talking about, curious to see what she intended to do.

 “It means that I cannot heal you,” Rosa responded.

“What will happen if you do?” Sera asked with genuine curiosity as she looked at the bolt protruding from her commander’s back.

“Then he will be freed from his insignificant mortal shell!” a harrowing voice rang out across the Rotunda, a shriek and a roar in unison. All sights turned toward the sound, and their eyes went wide as a single white dragon knight walked towards them. Though the eyes were covered by the mask, the darkness behind the eye slits was undeniable. Black tendrils crawled up the visible skin of her neck and twisted around her wicked grin. A stain of blood just below her collarbone surrounded a split in the armor from a piercing projectile.

“Lieutenant Faere?” Commander Seiks asked warily as the dragon knight continued to advance on them. She did not answer.

“You will stand down and address your commander, Lieutenant!” Sera shouted as she stepped forward, her spear held out threateningly. Lieutenant Faere did not cease her advance, nor did she address anyone, but she held a hand up and a sigil formed on her palm. In an instant, Sera was lifted off the ground and flung to the side like a doll rejected by a petulant child.

“Stop her!” Commander Seiks ordered. “Protect the Queen at all costs!”

The other dragon knights wasted no time engaging this new enemy, while Commander Seiks continued to shield the Queen. The red dragon knight held out his spear, a ball of fire soon forming at its tip before it launched towards Faere. Without losing a step in her stride, she reflected it back at him with unnatural speed. He luckily dodged the flames as he rolled to the side, but Faere had already used a spell of haste to dash at him, her spear quickly piercing his stomach before retracting. He fell to the floor crying out in pain, clutching his belly to stop the bleeding.

The two gold dragon knights tried coming at her from her flanks, but Faere quickly leapt out of the way in a graceful backwards somersault. The marble floor shattered under the force of their spears as they missed their target. They failed to show any surprise at their adversary’s speed and leapt once more at the white dragon knight, engaging her in a fierce melee which she seemed to easily handle. Neither gold knight could get the upper hand, for her speed seemed inhuman, a fact that was soon confirmed when one of her arms transformed into a thick, black tentacle that she swept fiercely in front of her, knocking both of the gold knights to the ground before returning to a normal human arm.

She then raised both of her arms, like she was preparing to take flight on armored wings. She did not lift herself from the ground, however, but rather the boulders from the rubble behind her. They rumbled as they began to rise hauntingly, occasionally lit by the sunbeams piercing the smoke tinged air as they ascended towards the ceiling. Dozens of boulders soon dangled like ornaments until Faere moved her arms towards the dragon knights, at which point they began descending like meteors. There was nowhere they could leap to avoid the onslaught, as the massive chunks of stone came hurtling towards them, the sudden fear leaving them in a panicked stupor.

“Stop!” Rosa shouted as she dashed in front of the soldiers, holding out her glowing hand. As soon as the word left her mouth the stones froze in place, as though gravity had suddenly ceased to exist. For a moment she could look across the space, through the slits of Faere’s armored helmet, and she saw the same piercing darkness that filled Agleson’s eyes when last she saw him. She pushed through the pit of fear that it caused, and used her own force to push the stones away from the dragon knights. To her surprise, she could feel an impressive amount of resistance from Faere, whose magical force was much stronger than she expected, especially from a dragon knight. Rosa could feel the draining rush of her magical energy leaving her as she fought Faere’s power, and it quickly began taking its toll.

Luckily, she did not have to push much longer, as the two gold knights had leapt up amongst the boulders, using them to jump higher and higher before they began simultaneous descents toward their common enemy. This time, when their spears crossed paths, they made contact with armor, flesh and bone. There was no emotion on Faere’s face as she stood with a spear through the gut and another through the thigh, but her spear fell from her hand, clanging to the floor with a ring of resolution. Faere fell lifelessly to the ground, as the gold knights retracted their spears from the corpse, and Rosa lowered the boulders harmlessly back to the Rotunda floor before tending to the red dragon knight still clutching his stomach.

“Step back!” Commander Seiks ordered as he approached Lieutenant Faere’s body. He knelt down and removed her helmet, and his breath caught when he saw what was beneath. There was no doubt that it was, indeed, Lieutenant Faere, for her pale, freckled skin and red, short-cropped hair were unique among the Order. But the black veins that ran over her once beautiful face were like scars of some unnatural evil. He stood with a sudden rush of anger. “What…the hell…is going on here?!”

“Erik…I’m sorry,” Rosa whispered as she came up behind him, laying a tender hand on his shoulder, the fully healed red knight behind her being helped back to his feet by his comrades. “This is why I cannot heal you. It is some kind of corruption magic.”

 “Your Highness, how do we fight this?” Commander Seiks asked with desperation.

“Tonics…potions…no magic,” Rosa responded with what was left of her voice, remembering what Rydia had told her of her experience.

“Is it safe to remove the bolt?” the red dragon knight asked. Rosa simply nodded. He pulled a vial of blue liquid from a small satchel tied to his waist and held it out for the commander, who took it and waited for the cue to ingest the potion. He then wrapped his fingers tightly around the shaft, pressing his other hand against the commander’s back for counterforce. “Here goes.”

Another grunt escaped the commander’s lips as the daggerhead bolt was wrenched free from his body, a spurt of blood following behind it. He then quickly tipped the contents of the vial down his throat and soon the bleeding stopped. He never showed any signs of discomfort, so it was hard to tell if it had worked, and everyone waited with bated breath to see if he would begin to transform as Faere had.

“I’m fine,” Erik said, recognizing that everyone was watching him. He took the bolt from his lieutenant and observed it, looking at both the glowing rune on the one side and the crest etched on the other. While there were many questions mulling around in his head, only one stood out as a top priority. “How do we keep this magic from infecting our soldiers?”

“Mysidia…Cecil is there…they can help,” Rosa strained to speak through the pain in her throat.

“But the Devil Road is sealed, Your Highness?”

“I unsealed it…the path is open,” Rosa responded.

“I cannot risk escorting you through a warzone, Your Highness,” the commander stated. “We need to find a safe place for you, first.”

“I will take care of the Queen, Commander,” Sera interrupted as she shambled up to them, rubbing the back of her neck with her own healing hand. “I’m sorry for my performance in battle, sir, but I assure you I will not be caught off guard again.”

“I trust you will not let me down, Javelynn, but I want Tevren to assist,” the commander relented, waving one of the gold dragon knights over. His authoritative glare was then turned to the other remaining gold knight. “Ceifer, I’m counting on you to relay what we have witnessed here to the other squadrons. They need to know that healing magic of any kind is forbidden until we know more about what we’re dealing with. Go!”

Without hesitation the gold dragon knight ran from the Rotunda, leaping through one of the massive holes in the wall, disappearing into the fray that awaited all of them outside. Erik then turned towards the white dragon knight.

“Sorenson and I will make our way to the Devil Road, enlist the aid of the Mysidians and inform His Majesty of the incursion. You’re in command here now, Javelynn, and you will be responsible for debriefing any recon units that report here,” he said as he nodded towards the antechamber doors at the top of the grand staircase. “Lieutenants Berrick and Mavis are currently escorting a prisoner to General Gau and will rendezvous with you in the throne room.”

“Yessir,” Sera responded with a salute.

“And Erik,” Rosa called to him. “If you see my husband…please tell him that I love him.”

He gave a simple and respectful nod before signaling to his men to follow him out of the Rotunda and towards the village of Baron. Rosa watched as they disappeared through a hole in the wall, the sound of soldiers in the heat of battle still playing in the distance. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Sera with a reassuring smile.

“I promise that you will see King Cecil again, Your Highness,” Sera spoke softly. “Now let’s get you somewhere safe.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Rosa replied curtly. “We have work to do.”

“But—”

“Not another word!” Rosa held up her hand in protest. She then pointed her finger across the Rotunda, where many wounded citizens still needed medical attention. “We are healers now. Start at that end and we’ll meet in the middle.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Sera responded with a slight bow and a grin. She turned to walk away but looked back briefly to have the last word. “I see now why he liked you so much.”

“What?” Rosa asked, but Sera had already leapt to the top of the rubble heap and over to the opposite side of the Rotunda. Rosa just shook her head before turning to look for the closest person she could try to heal. The room was blanketed with an overwhelming shade of gray, the smoke outside now filling the skies like cumulonimbus over the shining sun. The smolder of firebombs tickled the back of her sore throat, the mild taste of sulfur she now realized came from the ignition powder. She spotted several bodies nearby and decided to check for signs of life. The gold dragon knight followed close behind her, though he did not speak, a silent sentinel for the Queen.

Rosa knelt down to a man that was barely breathing, his legs crushed under the weight of a large stone that had fallen from the ceiling. She used her magic to lift the heavy granite off of his shattered bones and he wailed in pain. Despite the sorrow that filled her, she stayed calm and began chanting her healing spells. In a matter of minutes the man began to breathe normally again and he even managed to pull himself off his belly and sit upright, the stains of blood from his once fractured skull a reminder of his near-death experience.

“Are you all right?” Rosa asked softly.

“Yes…yes…thank you…Your Highness.”

“Do you know where you are?” she asked, a routine question for anyone that had regained consciousness after trauma.

“I’m in the…the…”

Rosa immediately noticed his eyes widen with fear as they left hers, moving up to something behind her. She heard the sickly sound of a sharp object penetrating flesh, and the gurgle from a pierced throat. She jumped as the body of the gold dragon knight fell at her side, the blood pouring from a gaping hole in his neck quickly spreading across the floor. She spun around to see something she didn’t imagine was possible. The white dragon knight was holding up her hand which was completely black and shaped like a pike, a smattering of blood dripping off its tip. It then reverted back to normal, five armored fingers draped in crimson. The black, lifeless eyes were a void that reflexively sent Rosa into a state of rigid fear.

“Now…Queen of Baron…you will take me to her,” the eerie voice seeped from the corrupted knight’s twisted lips. “You will take me to the summoner.”


End file.
